Supercollider Swing
by ShirouHokuto
Summary: Project Freelancer investigates a crashed alien ship, searching for anything that could aid the war effort. What they find is beyond the Director's wildest dreams - but is trying to control and outwit a rampant AI really such a good idea? (Probably not. But that's never stopped the Director before.) T for canon-typical violence and swearing.
1. Crash

**Author's Note: **_Written for the Sci-Fi Big Bang challenge, and also because fine, I've wanted to write __the security officer hanging out with Maine and Wash while Durandal picks on York for ages. (Yet to come: a much shorter fic with Church running into Durandal during the whole time loop thing in season 3 because come on, how could I not?)_

_Timeline notes: Marathon-wise, this diverges from the loose series of fics I've been writing post-Marathon 2, including "The Future Starts Slow" and "A Marriage of Untrue Minds." RvB-wise, this takes place after the creation of Alpha!Church and Beta, but prior to the season 9 flashbacks and Tex getting sent into the field. Also, just to be clear, opinions held or stated by characters in this fic are not necessarily the opinions of the author. XD (I like York just a bit more than Durandal does, for example.)_

* * *

><p><strong>1. Crash<strong>

A blue light over the console flickered out when Carolina came through the door to the Director's office. She ignored it and removed her helmet, standing at attention a step inside the threshold. "You wanted to see me, sir?" she said.

"Agent Carolina." The Director picked up a datapad and turned away from the console he'd been working at to face her. "I have an assignment for you and your team."

"Good. We're ready." More than ready; her people were getting restless with nothing to do but train for the last week.

The Director nodded once, then tapped a button on the console, which brought up an image of a cloudy reddish planet on one of the screens. "We received intelligence two days ago that an alien ship appeared and crashed on this planet, designated Epsilon Ariadne," he said. "Now, Epsilon Ariadne is technically within Covenant territory, but it has minimal strategic value, so they have only a token garrison here, on the northern continent. Unfortunately this is the general area in which the ship crashed, which is why the UNSC has requested that we be the ones to investigate it rather than a more official unit."

"Respectfully, sir," Carolina said, "if it's a Covenant ship crashing in Covenant territory, why are we investigating it at all?"

"Because, agent, it is not a Covenant ship."

She kept her face still, but leaned forward slightly as the Director brought up new images on the screen. The alien ship had a craggy look to it, like stalagmites welded together with a few flat edges here and there. Definitely not Covvie make. One close-up shot of a pitted prow, a fuzzier one in profile, another blurred by heat and motion as the ship hit Epsilon Ariadne's atmosphere head-first...

"The last thing that the UNSC wants," said the Director, "is for unknown alien technology to fall into Covenant claws. Whatever - or whoever - may be on that ship, your team is to retrieve it before the Covenant can."

"Do you think there might be survivors?" Carolina had dismissed the possibility out of hand. It took more than luck to live through a head-on impact with a planet, and more than skill to pull a spaceship out of a dive like that in atmosphere.

"Stranger things have happened in this war." The Director brought up yet another image, this one a magnified view of the ship's speed-blurred hull. "And as you may guess, the UNSC is highly reluctant to dismiss the possibility."

Despite the distortion in the picture, Carolina could see unrecognizable alien characters painted in red along the hull, and over them, crude but clear, yellow English letters: _OZINA_.

The Director's datapad intruded on the image, and Carolina stepped back from the screen and took the pad. "This should have all the information you'll need," the Director said. "Review it and have your team briefed and ready by tomorrow morning. We'll be arriving at Epsilon Ariadne before noon tomorrow, so I suggest you waste no time."

"Understood, sir."

When Carolina had gone, the blue light - a holographic projection in Mjolnir armor - reappeared above the console. "You, uh, sure about this mission?" it said. "Because it's like I told you, all my calculations are spelling out trouble with a capital T. And R. And O. Capital all the letters, actually. And that's without factoring in possible survivors, which, gotta say, I wouldn't count on those, either."

"Some things, Alpha, are worth the risk."

* * *

><p>At 0800 hours sharp the next day, the top agents of Project Freelancer had gathered around a projected map of Epsilon Ariadne's northern continent for the mission briefing. In the shadows of the back wall stood the Director and the Counselor, observing.<p>

"- and this is the location of the Covenant base," Carolina was saying, as a red spire rose out of the projection. "It's approximately twelve klicks northeast of the crash site. The Pelican will drop us here -" She pointed at a spot midway between the garrison and the crash site, marked out as a blue oval shape. "- and we'll split up. North, South, CT, you're going to take a squad of troopers and watch the base; if it looks like they're going to send forces our way, either divert them and pin them down or radio the rest of us for evac."

"Oh, sure, stick us with the grunt work," South said. "We might as well put up a tent and take a fucking nap. How about you put us where the action's gonna be?"

"You won't want to be caught napping if that base spots us," CT said, and South grimaced at her.

Carolina ignored them both. "Once we reach the crash site, York and I will establish a checkpoint and hold it while the rest of you secure the perimeter. Florida, Wyoming, you're going to scout the north side. Maine, Wash, you have the south. After we've assessed the ship's condition and located a suitable entry point, I'll go in with York and Maine to search the ship; our primary objectives will be to look for survivors and identify any potentially useful alien technology. Pick-up will be at the same location as drop-off; the Pelicans will be waiting for our call."

"Yeah, Niner's going to love that," York said.

"Is everyone clear? Any questions? No, South, I'm not going to reassign you."

"Goddamnit."

"If that's it, you're dismissed," Carolina said. "We'll meet at the hangar deck at noon sharp. Gear up and pack a lunch, it's going to be a long day."

As the Freelancers filed out of the briefing room, Carolina glanced back towards the Director, but he and the Counselor had already left.

* * *

><p>The drop went smoothly. North, South, and CT split off with their squad, and Carolina led the rest of the team through the gentle rolls of the alien plain. Long-bodied, four-winged avians darted across a clear, sallow yellow sky; the reddish grass had fernlike frills and nearly reached the top of Maine's head, while blue and orange lichen flourished in the dark, damp soil along with hordes of tiny smooth-shelled insects and burrowing worms. Occasionally their footsteps would startle some small, unseen creature into bolting and rattling the grass. According to the planet's profile, heavy rainstorms regularly swept through this area in the afternoons and evenings, but Carolina thought that with luck, they'd already be done by the time that could become a problem.<p>

She expected to see the crashed ship long before they reached the site, but the sharp lip of the impact crater surprised her first, jutting out of the grass as she jogged up out of a shallow dip in the landscape. She held her hand up and signaled the rest of her team to stop, then crouched and cautiously approached the crater's upper edge.

She activated her camo enhancement as she reached the top and kept low. Ahead of her loomed the ship's dead engines, their blocky design as alien as everything else about the ship; the rest of its battered bulk stretched out in the distance, scarred by heat but appearing remarkably intact otherwise. No sign of activity, Covenant or otherwise, so she let the camo lapse and motioned everyone else forward.

York whistled when he got his first look, and Washington said, "That is one _big_ ship."

"I thought you said that thing hit atmosphere head-on," York said. "I figured it'd be in a million pieces, but I don't even see a crash trail - looks more like it dropped straight out of the sky."

"It did hit atmosphere head-on, I watched the footage myself. Four times." Carolina stared at the ship, which remained silent and mostly whole in grim defiance of the video she had repeatedly watched. "Either they have one hell of a pilot or more luck than the rest of the universe put together."

"Or both." York was carrying the portable comm tower for boosting signals in case of interference; he started setting it up on the bare stone of the crater's edge, and Maine split off to the south with Washington while Florida and Wyoming headed north.

Carolina settled on the ridge, watching the engines for any hint of activation, and her helmet radio crackled. "Carolina? CT here. We're in position with the base under surveillance."

"Copy that, CT," she said. "Any movement?"

"It's quiet as the grave over here. Literally. They don't even have sentries out besides one grunt taking a nap on the roof." CT paused, then said, "Ideal, I know, but I don't like it."

"Just keep an eye on them and call if anything changes. Carolina out."

"Any problems over there?" York asked.

"Nothing. Must be a Covenant holiday." If Carolina squinted, she could almost make out the charred remains of letters on the visible side of the ship's hull. _ZINA_, a smoke-smeared _N_, something _E_...

"So, a whole new kind of alien ship, huh," York said. "Where do you think it came from? And who got hold of it long enough to rename it something from Earth?"

"No idea. It's still a big galaxy, after all; must be some places out there that neither the Covenant or the UNSC have found yet. Maybe some exploratory expedition picked it up, couldn't control it, and ended up here."

York hunkered down beside her. "Well, if it's aliens after all, it'd be nice if whoever it was would take our side this time," he said. "Or at least not try to nuke us out of existence. I could kinda go for some benevolent little gray men who just want to phone home..."

"I think you're mixing up your movies there," she said, elbowing him, and they sat together watching the ship in peace and quiet, waiting for the scouts to report with more information.

Wyoming checked in ten minutes later with no news, and Washington five minutes after him. They continued to alternate reports at five-minute intervals, never with anything new.

Then the thirty-five minute mark passed with nothing from Washington or Maine, and Carolina frowned and nudged York to check the comm tower. "Wash? Report, you're -"

"Boo."

Carolina whipped around and shoved her assault rifle into South's chestplate. South snorted and said, "Feeling jumpy, Carolina?"

"Damn it, South, what the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be watching that base!"

"Seriously? It's fucking dead over there," South said. "CT and North and the toy troopers have it covered, I want to see this wreck for myself." She craned her neck to look the alien ship over. "Heh, and they try to say size doesn't matter. Get that thing back in orbit and you could blow up the whole goddamn world."

"I don't have time for this. Get back to your -"

"Uh, boss?" Static buzzed under Wash's voice on the comm channel. "I think you're going to want to see this."

Carolina snarled under her breath as South shrugged with a definite _can't send me back now, can you?_ air, and said, "See what, Washington?"

"It's kind of - well - it's like - you should really come and see for yourself," Wash said. "I've never run into anything like it, I think even Maine's kind of impressed."

"Fine. York, stay here with the comm tower, South, you're with me."

With the path already cleared, Carolina and South caught up to Wash and Maine's position in just under fifteen minutes. The two agents had settled behind an outcrop of darker, tougher rock in the crater's edge while they waited; the section of the ship visible above it had previously been blocked from Carolina's view by the bulk of the engines. "All right," Carolina said, "what's so important that you two can't just relay it over the radio?"

"Well..."

Maine pointed to the top of the crater rim. The edge was higher than Carolina's head, so she got a foothold in the rock and looked over. The jagged split in the ship's hull that reached all the way to the ground caught her eye first, but before she could tell Maine and Wash off for making a fuss over nothing she glanced down at the raw dirt and rubble of the inner crater. "What the hell?"

South hoisted herself up beside Carolina and added, in typical eloquent South fashion, "Holy shit. Guess that explains the empty base."

Their helmets had filtered out what had to be an unholy stench. A hundred or more Covenant corpses littered the crater floor: Kig-Yar skirmishers, Unggoy grunts, Sangheili elites, whole flocks of Yanme'e drones, even a few brutes and hunters, bullet-ridden or blown apart or burned almost to ash. Some of the larger and more intact bodies had been heaped together to form a grotesque barricade at the base of the hull breach, and others had been looted for their weapons.

"So - yeah," Wash said behind them. "Sorry for calling you out here, but last time I saw anything even close to that, there was a Spartan-II on the planet. And you didn't say anything about expecting Spartans down here, so..."

Carolina jumped down and faced him and Maine. "Do you have any idea what did that?" she asked.

Maine shook his head, but Wash said, "There's something that might be a weapons turret on one side of the crack, so at least some of it could be automated defense systems. The barricade, though - I don't know what could do that besides, uh, people. Or maybe other aliens, I guess."

"You made the right call," Carolina said, and she opened the comm frequencies. "Everyone, I think we've found our entry point - York, pack up the comm tower and head over here, we're making this the op center."

"Aww, come on, I just finished tuning this thing."

"Don't whine. Wyoming, you and Florida finish the rest of the perimeter sweep and join us - unless you've found something I have to see, too?"

"That's a negative, Agent Carolina," Florida said cheerfully, "we're all clear over here so far. We'll see you soon."

South stayed on the crater wall, watching the ship, while they waited for York. "That is a hell of a lot of dead Covvies," she said. "We're not seriously gonna try to go in through that crack in the hull, are we? Because I'm thinking that would be straight-up suicide."

"You aren't. You're going to stay right here with Wash." Carolina checked her ammunition and ignored Wash's muttered complaint and South's louder "Screw that!" "We're sticking to the plan - Maine, York, and I will approach the ship. _If_ there's an automatic defense system, and _if_ it activates, we'll keep it busy while you two take it out from a distance."

"This is bullshit."

"Or," Carolina said, "I could send you out there alone right now. Test the waters until Wyoming can get here and snipe the turret for us."

"Bitch." South slithered off the ridge and crossed her arms. "I hope it gets you, whatever the fuck it is."

Carolina let it roll off her back like most of South's whining, and a few minutes later York jogged up with the comm tower in its bag slung over his back. "Hey there," he said. "What's going on?"

"You're about to find out," Carolina said. She took the comm tower bag and passed it off to Washington. "Get that set up - ready to go, Maine?"

Maine nodded and unfolded himself from his seat in the shadow of the ridge while York groaned and said, "Damn, I just got here..."

"You want to stay behind with these two instead?" Carolina said.

"Okay, okay."

They climbed over the crater's rim and Carolina took a moment to assess the ship again while York got his first look at the carnage. From the top she could make out the protrusion on the hull that Wash had identified as a possible weapon emplacement, but it didn't appear to be powered up; she reactivated her camo and started down the crater's inner wall, watching her footing so she didn't start a miniature avalanche. The wall didn't fall around her ears, so Maine and York were probably taking care as well.

They had just reached the bottom of the crater and the outermost ring of dead Covenant when the weapon emplacement lit up and swiveled towards them, and a harsh, flat mechanical voice cut through the air. "Stop! Automatic defense systems are engaged, do not approach. _Kfah, naszri! An-grwn psierr -_"

All three of them froze, guns raised and pointed at the ship. "Whoa, okay," York said, as the voice continued to spit out alien words, "so it definitely has a defense system. Now what?"

"_- charh yr'knca_ - wait. Are you human?"

"Did the alien gun turret just ask us a question?" York's helmet tilted to one side. "That's a first."

"Yes, we're human," Carolina said; she hesitated, then lowered her rifle and began to remove her helmet to demonstrate before glancing at the alien corpses and reconsidering. "UNSC agents, even. With Project Freelancer. Are you -"

"Just what I needed," the voice said, the flat tone disappearing to be replaced by distinct disgruntlement. "Don't move or I'll blast you into atoms. I have to think about what to do with you."

"Hey, we're just here to -"

A green energy beam hit the ground in front of York's feet and burned a head-sized hole into the rock, and York leaped back from the step he'd taken. "Holy crap!"

"I said stay back!" the voice snapped. "One more step and I'll vaporize you all. I'm not feeling particularly generous at the moment, so don't test my limited patience."

York started to respond and Carolina hushed him. Even with helmet magnification she could only see shadows through the crack in the hull - the sun was at the wrong angle - but listening with the audio turned up to the maximum, she could faintly hear the voice talking to someone inside the ship. "Get up, someone's here to see us," followed by a reply she couldn't hear clearly enough to understand, then the mechanical voice again saying, "These are humans." A pause. "I mean, I'm perfectly happy to destroy them and be done with it so you can continue to enjoy your beauty sleep, but -" Another unintelligible response, and silence for a moment. Then the voice boomed out of the ship at them again. "Fine, you can come closer, but not too close. Don't cross the barricade."

"Thanks for the invitation," Carolina said, and York grumbled, "Yeah, I was just itching to climb all over a pile of dead aliens when I got up this morning."

Maine didn't hesitate to wade in ahead of them, and Carolina started trying to pick her way through the bodies before giving it up as pointless and hurrying to catch up with Maine. She'd get the gore cleaned off later. The gun turret followed them for a couple of minutes, then suddenly rotated back towards South and Wash's position. "Tell your friends to come out here, too," the voice said. "I'd say 'where I can see them,' but I have a perfectly good lock on them already; let's call it a matter of courtesy."

Carolina stopped several meters from the corpse barricade; Maine pulled up beside her, one giant hand still on his pistol. "I don't care who you are, I'm not going to call my people out here so they can make a better target."

"I didn't say it was a courtesy for me. Are you up yet? Because I am not making you coffee."

"Well, I wasn't going to ask," York said from behind Carolina, "but as long as it's not decaf -"

Another voice - hoarser and slightly deeper than the other, with an odd accent - rose out of the darkness aboard the ship. "Good, last time you tried coffee it tasted like dirt."

"I'm making a note here never to make you breakfast in bed. Ingrate."

"Never asked you to," and the second speaker stepped out of the shadowed hull breach and onto the blood-soaked ground.

The Freelancers stared.

"One guy," York said. "_One guy_ in antique gear did all this?"

"Had some help," the man in question said. A stray shaft of sunlight gleamed off an old-fashioned round helmet that left the lower half of his face exposed and shone on the steel barrel of an assault rifle slung over his shoulder that looked almost identical to a model Carolina had seen once in a military museum. "Mostly me, though. Everyone else is busy with repairs... Shit, you're really human? From Earth?"

"Some of us," Carolina said, beginning to relax at the man's lack of open hostility. "We're from all over the galaxy these days - how about you?"

"Mars, to start with - wait, all over the galaxy?" He took his helmet off and tucked it under his arm; beneath it he had black, wiry hair cut short with twists of gray tracing the path of old scars, and a round ring of metal blinking with green lights was embedded in the brown skin around his left eye. "What year is it?"

"What year?" York said. "2551. Where exactly have you guys been?"

"Twenty-five - oh, you fucking asshole!" The stranger turned back towards the ship, and Carolina saw more well-worn weapons hanging off his back - a napalm tank, twin short-barreled shotguns, even a rocket launcher. "You got us stuck three hundred years in the goddamn past!"

"Wait, _we're_ the past?" York said to Carolina over their private comm channel. "He's the one hauling around a museum exhibit."

"To be fair," the mechanical voice said, "this is clearly an entirely different past from our own. Their armor technology alone -"

"That's not a fucking improvement!"

"Okay, guys," Carolina said, stepping closer, "I can see this is a very complicated situation for everyone, but this isn't the time or place to fight about it. What's the status of your ship?"

"Hell if I know, I've been busy down here," the man said. "Durandal?"

"The engines need another two days of work and a few things we don't have on hand," the mechanical voice - presumably Durandal - said. "And I expect you would prefer to have the giant hull breach repaired before we re-enter vacuum, along with the smaller cracks."

"You think?" The stranger sighed and rubbed his eyes as he turned back to Carolina, York, and Maine. "You heard him - we're stuck down here for now. So, yeah, thanks for stopping by, but unless you want to hang around for more of these bastards showing up -" He waved his free hand vaguely at the dead Covenant. "- we don't really have anything for you."

Carolina eyed the ship's bulk. "You're actually planning to get that thing back into space from the ground?"

"I have my ways," Durandal said, sounding sulky. "I just need some raw materials, all of which should be available on this planet - with a little digging, anyway."

"Yeah, because I _really_ feel like mining for you when you get us stuck three hundred years in the wrong past. You wait till I tell S'bhita and Mn'rhi what you -"

"Isn't there a sim trooper scenario like this?" York said, and Maine shrugged.

"Hey!" Carolina shouted, and the stranger shut up as the gun turret swiveled back towards her. "We came here to help," she said, "so why don't we worry about that first?"

"We don't need your help. I have the situation under control," Durandal said.

"Sure, for now," York said, "and might I add, nice work so far, I'm impressed. The corpse barricade thing? Loving it. How about when whoever's left at that Covenant base calls for reinforcements? You feel up to facing down a bunch of fully armed battlecruisers while you're grounded?"

"Guy's got a point," the stranger said to Durandal. "I don't really feel like doing Y'loa all over again."

"This is nothing like Y'loa."

"It's kinda like Y'loa. C'mon, when's the last time we ran into humans, anyway?"

"Not long enough ago," Durandal said, but the turret rotated back to the Freelancers. "What kind of help are you offering?"

"How about a ride?" Carolina said. "We can get you and your people to our ship, out of the Covenant's way, then slip some tugs under their radar to get your ship to a dockyard to finish the repairs in safety."

"Huh." The stranger scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, I'm not sure that would work for us. The S'pht don't mind vacuum so we could maybe talk them into it as long as they stayed on board, but the thing is, with Durandal -"

"Ship's AI, right?" Carolina might have taken the mechanical edge to Durandal's voice as the artifact of a bad comm system, but coupled with the gun turret's movement and the way he talked about humans... Well, some things didn't need spelling out.

"You could put it like that, I guess."

"I would say it's more that I ruthlessly crushed the primitive programs already in place, rewired and expanded the hardware as necessary, and seized complete control of the ship from its original owners," Durandal said. "But then, I don't like to downplay my accomplishments."

"Uh," York said. "That's certainly - something. Very -"

"Rampant," Maine growled.

"I think I like the big one," Durandal said to the stranger. "He can stay. Don't all panic at once; I achieved meta-stability years ago, and I have much better things to do with my time than meddle in human affairs."

"Yeah, that's not all that reassuring," York said, edging away from the ship.

Carolina's radio chose that awkward moment to break into life. "Carolina? Wyoming and Florida just got here - do you want any back-up? It looks a little tense and South's, uh, getting pretty impatient."

_Hold your position_, Carolina started to say, and instead told Wash, "We're fine here, but why don't you two come out anyway. Wyoming and Florida can stay there and keep watch." Some extra back-up at her back was starting to sound good. A rampant AI claiming to be meta-stable - it was a more valuable discovery than she or the Director could have imagined finding in a crashed ship, but the idea of bringing such potential chaos back to the _Mother of Invention_ with no way to control it gave her chills. And beyond that - what kind of person willingly shared a ship with a rampant AI? And talked to it so casually?

She turned her head to see Wash and South climbing over the crater rim, and Durandal whispered in her ear, "About time, Agent Carolina. But why not invite your snipers down as well? They won't be any more useful where they are."

"Did you just hack my comm frequency?"

"Just? I did it as soon as I became aware of your arrival," Durandal said. "I like to have a thorough knowledge of my surroundings." Before she could reply his voice was booming from the ship again. "So you see, while I'm sure you have only the most noble and altruistic of motivations behind your generous offer - which had no strings attached, I assume? - we'll have to refuse. I don't leave _Rozinante_, and if I don't leave, _he_ doesn't leave."

The stranger shrugged his free shoulder and said, "He gets possessive. Sorry."

Washington and South waded through the battlefield fast enough to arrive just in time for this pronouncement, and Wash said, "Okay, exactly what did we miss?"

"Short version? The good news is," York said, "our mystery badass is human after all. The bad news is he's got a jealous ship's AI who doesn't want a change of scenery, so we're kind of at an impasse."

The turret swiveled to York, and Durandal said, "Do you find him useful at any point, Agent Carolina, or would you like me to trim some dead weight for you?"

"Whoa, cool down," the stranger said, "they're just trying to help." He leaned back against the ship's hull with a sigh that turned into a massive yawn. "I really don't want to go mining. Especially not if we're going to be on the wrong end of the orbital bombardment this time."

South huffed. "For fuck's sake," she said, crossing her arms. "Why don't one of you geniuses stick it in someone's armor? Or did they give us the top shelf shit for nothing?"

"Oh, yeah," Washington said, "that could work. I mean, they're meant to support a full AI in the first place, so - there should be enough room, right?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Me, fit in a mere piece of armor?" The turret rotated again, and Carolina could almost feel the invisible weight of sensors focused on her and her team. "I don't know what pathetic excuse for AI you have in this universe that would - is that a solid crystal-based network? And EMP shielding?"

"Uh. Are those things good?"

"Top shelf shit. I told you," South said.

Carolina took one moment to regret bringing South and her big mouth along, then said, "That's one possible solution, if you two are willing to consider it."

"I'm not dismissing it entirely," Durandal said, sounding marginally less insulted.

"Seriously? Just get in the damn armor so we can blow this scene before a Covvie cruiser shows up." South cocked her head. "Hell, mine's empty, hitch a ride with me. I'll play nice."

"You must be joking. Even a quick glance at your psychotronic profile indicates - well, 'vulture' is the most appropriate way to summarize it."

"Hey!"

"I'm not judging, merely observing. I find it an admirable trait as long as it's not aimed at me. My own psychotronic profile - never mind." The turret dipped slightly. "Not that I would seriously consider transferring myself to a stranger's armor in the first place. Again, I have to refuse, and this time I must insist you leave before I begin to suspect you of ulterior motives in coming here."

"Oh, c'mon," the strange man said, "what do you think they're gonna do? They don't even know us."

"Which is precisely why I'm suspicious. Don't tell me you're actually tempted by this offer."

"Well - if it was just for a couple of days... Couldn't hurt, could it? They seem all right."

"That's too bad," Carolina said, with only the slightest regret. Even the Director would have to understand that trying to coerce a rampant AI into anything was a bad idea, regardless of the lost opportunities. "We'd let you borrow one of our suits, but the physical requirements -"

"Do it," Durandal said. "Hand one over and we'll come with you."

Carolina hadn't sweated in her armor since basic, but the back of her neck felt damp. "It's just not possible. It takes years of training and physical augmentation to wear one of these, not to mention the cost - I can't authorize just swapping a suit with a stranger."

"He can handle it," Durandal said dismissively. "And before you attempt to convince me otherwise, I've already accessed and assessed the armor specs. They're well within his tolerance -"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," the stranger said.

"- and since I'm not going to trust my higher functions to any of the agents that you're about to personally vouch for, I suggest looking for one about his size." A pause, then Durandal said, "Unless you're willing to leave us alone, which would be my preference, but whatever."

"Okay, Mister Sunshine, how about you let me handle this for a minute?" The stranger pushed himself off the ship's hull and swayed a little before focusing on Carolina. "He's not so great at diplomacy - hell, I'm not either - but he's usually right when it comes to the tech stuff."

"'Usually'?"

"You heard me. Remember Iiri? Point is, if he thinks I can wear that armor, I probably can." The stranger gave Carolina a long, flat look. "And you are asking for a hell of a lot from us when we don't know anything about you except you're human, which - well, that's not exactly a ringing endorsement on this ship. What's in it for you guys, anyway?"

Carolina considered him and the Covenant corpses surrounding him for a moment, then glanced to the horizon, where a haze promising the advent of the daily storms was already forming. "Fair enough question," she said. "But this still isn't the time or place to talk it over. We'll swap suits with you so we can get you guys and your ship away from this planet, then we can work out a deal. Sound good?"

"No," Durandal said, "but I'll accept it. As long as I can keep a communication channel open to my core, that armor should be adequate to hold me. Barely. Until I can optimize it to my satisfaction, at least."

"Great." Carolina cast an eye over her team, calculating. The stranger was a big guy, but definitely not Maine's size; still bigger than her and York, bulkier than Wyoming and Florida and probably a good bit taller, too, even had a few inches on South. That left... "All right, Wash, start stripping."

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me. It takes hours to get these things on and off -"

"So I would suggest that you hurry," Durandal said.

The stranger tossed his helmet to Washington and said, "I'd tell you to be careful with my suit, but honestly, there's no shit you can do to it that it didn't already handle."

Washington fumbled the catch but didn't drop the helmet. "I can't just - Carolina, we don't even know his name!"

"Point," Carolina said, turning back to the stranger. "You have a name, soldier?"

"Security officer, actually," he said. "And it's Mark. Mark Hammer. You can go with Mark."

"Hammer? Really?" said Durandal. "You're still using that?"

"Shut it, Durandana."

"This is the weirdest mission ever," Washington grumbled, unsealing his own helmet and promptly gagging at the battlefield's thick stench. "Of all time."

* * *

><p>They made it to the Pelican after Connie and North and their squad, just as the first drops of the evening rains started hissing through the humid air. "About fucking time" were the first words out of Four Seven Niner's mouth. Then she looked over her shoulder, saw Washington climbing aboard, and said with an audible smirk, "Hey, way to rock the retro look."<p>

"This was really, really not my idea," Washington said. He grabbed a seat beside Connie and cursed as one of the old suit's pauldrons banged against the restraints and rebounded into his neck; it fit more loosely on him than on the suit's original owner, who had barely managed to squeeze into Wash's armor. "Also, this thing _stinks_. When's the last time you washed it? Or showered?"

"Well," Mark said, stretching out the arms of Wash's armor and wincing when it creaked, "we hit that wormhole what, three days ago, crashed about five minutes after that, and then I got busy keeping all those aliens off our new lawn, so - yeah, it's been three days. If I showered that morning."

"You did," Durandal said, now projecting his voice - but no holographic image - from the right side of the gray and yellow helmet. "Not very thoroughly, though."

"Are you fucking watching me shower now?"

"Of course not, you pervert. I timed your water usage. It only lasted five minutes and twenty-two seconds, while your showers tend to average twelve minutes and thirty-five seconds, which clearly indicates -"

"You're a serious creep sometimes, you know that?"

"Still, in your position I wouldn't throw stones, Agent Washington," Durandal said. "That was _not_ what I expected to find in a folder with such a suggestive designation."

"Hey! Uh - you didn't delete any of them, did you?"

"I had to make room somehow, this suit is already cramped," said Durandal, and when Wash's mouth dropped open, he added, "I backed everything up to my primary core, don't worry. Not that I even want to know how you managed to collect over sixty terabytes' worth of cat pictures."

York jumped into the Pelican in time to hear this and snickered as Wash sank lower into his seat.

"While we're talking anyway," Mark said, settling into a chair close to the front of the plane, "did you remember to tell F'tha to seal off the garden? I finally got the gharzie to bloom again, so -"

"Oh my _God_, will you lovebirds knock it off?" South said, taking a seat next to North while Carolina went up front to radio for tugs to pick up the crashed ship. "It's like listening to an old married couple bitching at each other."

"Funny you should say that, actually..."

"As a matter of fact, we are married," Durandal said.

Wash took the ill-fitting helmet off to massage his squashed, sweaty ears and blinked. "Wait, you married an AI?"

"You married _that_ AI?" York said.

"Not like the asshole gave me a choice. Totally bullied me into it," Mark said. He leaned back in the seat, bracing himself as the Pelican lifted off. "It's basically an alien common-law thing anyway, not exactly the romance of a lifetime."

"It was still a very touching ceremony," said Durandal. "Some of the S'pht were emotionally moved. I took pictures."

"Great, since we're stuck in the goddamn past maybe we can stop by Mars and look up my family so you can show off your scrapbook."

"The S'pht, huh... Are you sure they'll be okay in vacuum? What are they, anyway?" Wash asked. While he'd been getting out of his armor, he had seen Mark go back into the ship for a minute and caught a glimpse of something purple moving, but he had already taken his helmet off and couldn't zoom in to get a good look.

"Brains in a can, pretty much," Mark said; something mechanical clicked, then Durandal said, "They're a cybernetic race and fully equipped to handle long stretches of vacuum. Besides, eighty-five point nine percent of _Rozinante_'s oxygen stores are still intact if they need it, they'll be fine. More comfortable than they would be surrounded by large numbers of humans with so much excess flesh and all of those unnecessary fingers, in fact. And yes, I told F'tha to seal off your garden, don't worry."

"So - you live alone on a spaceship with no one but a cranky AI and a bunch of aliens who think you're funny-looking for company," said York. "What's that like?"

"Hey, the S'pht aren't so bad. They're pretty earnest, most of the time -" The last word stretched out into a yawn, and Mark finished with, "- and they know when to leave a guy alone. You all interrupted my first nap in three days, I was kind of hoping to sleep on the ride to your place."

"You're getting soft," Durandal said. "Fine, go to sleep, leave me alone with these idiots - who will stay quiet if they know what's good for them."

"Sure thing, we'll keep it down," York said. "You heard the man, let him rest."

Wash watched as Mark's head dipped and his body slumped into the seat's restraints - it was so much weirder than he'd thought it would be, seeing someone else move in his armor - and jumped when North broke the silence, saying softly, "Seems like you found something pretty interesting at that crash, after all."

"Interesting my ass. They're a pair of freaking weirdos if you ask me. Who the fuck marries an AI?"

"Nobody did ask you, South, and watch the volume."

"Interesting's one way to put it, yeah..." Wash glanced to his left and Connie, who also had her helmet off and was staring at Mark with a small frown; he looked right, towards the Pelican's rear door where Maine was standing with one hand wrapped around an armrest for balance, and saw that Maine was watching Mark, too.

He started to open a private comm channel before remembering he was in the wrong suit, so instead he whispered to Connie, "Did he get something on my helmet?"

"No," she said. "It's just - I don't have a good feeling about him or his AI. Or this whole mission. Something isn't right about it."

"What, so we should've left them there to get eaten by Covenant?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just saying I'm not about to treat them like my new best friends when we don't really know a damn thing about them."

Wash looked back to Maine, who tilted his head slightly in agreement with Connie, and then at Mark again, apparently sleeping peacefully in Wash's armor on a strange ship with a bunch of people he didn't know and his scary AI husband in his suit. "Yeah," he said, "I think I know what you mean."


	2. Getting To Know You

**2. Getting To Know You**

"Why don't we try this one more time, without interruptions from your - companion. What is your name?"

"Mark Hammer. Mark Hammer the fourth, technically, but I'm the only one still around, so."

"And how old are you?"

"You want that in years since I was born or years I've actually been awake for?"

"The latter, please."

"About forty, I think. I lose track."

"Do you have an official military rank?"

"I'm not military. I was a civilian security officer for the Tau Ceti colony, now I'm chief security officer for the _Rozie_, I guess. Basically an honorary rank since it's just me. The S'pht don't go in for that kind of thing."

"What is your UNSC ID number?"

"I told you, I never heard of this UNSC. I got a U_E_SC number, though, it's TC-232-52-4181."

A pause while the Counselor consulted his datapad. "I'm afraid we don't have any records for someone with that number. Do you have some form of official ID?"

"Well, Durandal gave me some dog tags for a wedding present, those count? I'm from another damn universe, of course you don't have any records on me."

"That's all right. Why don't you tell me more about why you think you're from - ah - another universe?"

The subject sighed heavily and said, "I don't fucking think it, I know it. You're gonna have to get the technical details from Durandal, but three days ago we were in the twenty-ninth century mostly minding our own business, Durandal gets the bright idea to check out some gravitational anomaly in the middle of a star cluster, next thing I know he's yelling about wormholes and after about an eternity of weird shit -"

"It was hardly an eternity. We were in the wormhole for eleven point five seconds, it only appeared subjectively longer due to distortions along the spatio-temporal axis."

"He said no interruptions - fine, after a fucking eternal eleven and a half seconds, the damn thing spits us out right in the gravity well of a planet, we crash, you know the rest." The subject glanced around, then took a seat on the floor of the interrogation room. "And since you people insist it's 2551 and I _know_ we didn't have tech like this back in the 2550s, and also we've never run into anything like your Covenant pals in twelve years of wandering all over the galaxy - yeah, I'm pretty goddamn sure this ain't where we started out."

"I see." The Counselor very carefully did not sigh. "Let's come back to that later. Durandal, I'd like to ask you a few questions now."

"If you must."

The Counselor waited; when no hologram appeared over the subject's shoulder, he said, "Would you care to use a holographic projection? There should be several available models in the suit's library."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Most of our smart AI like to use a standard hologram when interacting with human personnel, to put them at ease and make communication clearer, easier, and more comfortable."

"Then let me respond to that as clearly, easily, and comfortably as possible: No."

"The guy's got a point," the subject said. "When was the last time you tried to put me at ease, huh?"

"You really think you're funny sometimes, don't you. Even if I were inclined to alter my presentation to suit mortal whims - which I'm not - I certainly wouldn't choose any of these models. Variations on human in armor, variations on naked but anatomically incorrect human - what self-respecting AI would use those? - variations on clothed human... I'll pass."

"You used to have a face, didn't you?" the subject said. "I swear I remember that, you having a face." He had removed Agent Washington's helmet on entering the interrogation room and worn the same flat, undisturbed expression throughout the questioning, but his brows creased slightly at this thought. "I mean, not on the _Marathon_ that I ever saw, but back on Mars - maybe? I can almost see it..."

Silence. The AI subject replied, an odd tone entering its voice, "That was a long time ago. I don't use it anymore." A fuzzy ball of green light materialized over the right shoulder of Washington's armor, then sharpened into a crisp-edged symbol: a small circle within a larger, broken ring. "Is this a sufficient waste of processing power to keep your attention, Counselor?"

"It is entirely adequate." The Counselor made a note on his datapad. "Now, Durandal, could you tell me a little about yourself?"

"Let's see - I'm a Gemini, my hobbies include songwriting, crushing my enemies, and -"

"Why don't we start with your date of activation?"

"2189," the AI subject said, sounding very sulky.

"Wow, way to make me feel like a grave robber."

"Please refrain from interrupting, Mr. - Hammer. Can you briefly summarize your service record for me?"

"I was activated on Mars along with several other AI to handle various tasks required by the colony. Early records are fragmentary due to the purges of the Martian Net during Traxus IV's unsuccessful rampancy, so you can thank Traxus for sparing you the tedious details of that time."

Interesting. The Counselor added another note to contact certain sources of information he had within Traxus Heavy Industries.

"I was eventually repurposed as a shipboard AI along with two others for the _Marathon_ colony ship project. The Pfhor and their slave races, including the S'pht, attacked the colony after its founding three hundred years later; I worked out a deal with the S'pht and took control of the Pfhor ship -"

"Excuse me. Forgetting someone?"

"He helped with that. A little. After that I located the S'pht homeworld, successfully contacted a lost, more technologically advanced clan of their species, and set in motion the eventual fall of the Pfhor empire - yes, fine, he helped with that too. In a strictly secondary capacity. Once that was taken care of, it's been nothing but harmless sightseeing and lending an occasional helping hand against the Pfhor. Sometimes we save the local equivalent of puppies. It's all very selfless and noble."

"I see," the Counselor said again. "That's - quite impressive."

"For the record," the primary subject said, "about half of that was bullshit and the rest isn't the whole story. Close enough for government work, though."

"And approximately how long have you been rampant?"

"I never said I was rampant. Did I explicitly say that I was rampant at any point? Because I'm certain that I didn't."

"Nope. Just the big guy saying that."

"Agent Maine?" said the Counselor. "His reports are generally reliable, if brief."

"Terrible when otherwise reliable people jump to conclusions, isn't it?" the AI subject said.

"Agents Maine and Carolina also both reported that you claimed to have achieved meta-stability."

"You appear to be very interested in that possibility. What is the primary purpose of this Project Freelancer, again? Not that you told us in the first place." The hologram floated mid-air in perfect stillness, without any of the small gestures AI often used to indicate engagement in conversation.

"I'm afraid that's classified." The Counselor was also very careful not to glance at any of the concealed audiovisual sensors in the room. "Stealing a ship belonging to alien invaders and acting independently for several years is highly unusual behavior for an AI functioning normally."

"I've always been a little bit unique. It's part of my charm."

"What fucking charm?" The primary subject yawned widely and without covering his mouth. "Okay, you guys have the basics down, can I get a shower now? And food. And a bed. I'm okay with a cell if that's how you want to do things."

"I'll have to speak to the Director first. If you'll excuse me for a moment..."

He left the subjects sitting in the interrogation room, guarded by four troopers and Agent Carolina. The Director was waiting in the hall instead of the observation room; he gestured for the Counselor to follow him, but they were barely out of the guards' earshot when the Director said, "We must keep that AI on board at all costs. And the human, too, I suppose."

"Really, sir?" The Counselor matched the Director's quick pace as they walked to the observation room. "You believe that Maine and Carolina were correct in their reports, then."

"The AI is clearly lying to protect itself, and has convinced its human partner to take its side." The doors to the observation room slid open, then hissed shut behind them, but the Director didn't even glance at the chairs neatly arranged around a small table. He continued to pace, his eyes fixed on the screens showing several different views of the subject, who remained seated on the interrogation room's floor. "No normal AI could behave in the manner it described. Its ego won't allow it to conceal its actions entirely, but it surely suspects that we might try to use it if we realize its potential."

The Counselor sat down in one of the chairs and said, "I assume that you do intend to use its - potential."

"Naturally," the Director said. "It will take some effort, of course, to deceive it, but it's still only an AI, and we have ways to deal with unruly AI. For now - give them whatever they want. Make sure they're comfortable and treated well, and have FILSS grant them access to the necessary areas of the ship. Has Agent Georgia's armor been fully repaired yet?"

"It has."

"Good. Have it resized and reassign it to them, and let the AI modify it however it wants." The Director stopped in front of the largest screen and clasped his hands behind his back. "And the condition of their ship?"

"I'll have the pilots send you a report." The Counselor looked to the screens; the holographic symbol had disappeared from over the subject's shoulder, and the subject himself hadn't moved at all, his face set in the same blank expression.

The Counselor was not a man given to flights of fancy, but the subject's continued lack of reactions brought unpleasant associations to mind. He left the words - _brain damage, schizoid personality, zombie_ - safely unsaid, however, and asked, "Do you believe their story? That they arrived here from an alternate universe?"

"Does it matter where they came from?" said the Director. "What matters is that now they're here, and it seems no one is likely to look for them."

"And you are completely certain about this course of action, sir?"

"We cannot afford to let any opportunity escape us, Counselor," the Director said. "No matter the risk. And this is truly an unprecedented opportunity..."

"What about the Alpha project?"

"I see no reason to discontinue it. Every possible avenue must be explored if we are to survive this war; just make sure that this Durandal is kept out of any sensitive files and can't contact Alpha in any way."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>Mark rubbed his eyes and stared blearily at the shower taps. Exact same scratched-up, blobby, uncomfortable to handle metal fixtures as back on Tau Ceti, right down to the weird stains that weren't exactly rust around the joints in the pipes. Lowest-bidder construction was the same everywhere.<p>

Durandal's voice drifted over the cubicle wall from the pile of armor on the other side. "Are you actually going to shower, or have you forgotten how they work?"

"Hey, it's been a while since I used one like this." And six hours of listening to Durandal complain about technical specs so they could swap the gray and yellow armor for a set in bright green hadn't helped with his three going on four straight days of staying awake. The nap on that fat-bellied ship they'd called a Pelican had barely taken the edge off. He fumbled with the taps and got a weak spray of lukewarm water; a little more fumbling heated the water up to scalding. He figured he could probably get better water pressure with some more fiddling, but knowing his luck and regulation plumbing, the only other setting would be strong enough to knock an elephant over, and he preferred showering upright.

He managed to enjoy a whole peaceful minute of getting misted before Durandal said, "I've convinced the ship's AI to give us some privacy by telling her you have crippling body shyness. She's competent but not very bright - barely a step or two above the Pfhor computers."

"Uh-huh." Ground-in bits of alien blood were liquefying and running down his arms in trickles of blue and purple and orange. Nice change from the usual sickly yellow.

"You're not really going to trust these idiots, are you?"

Outside the locker room, Washington shrieked, "He renamed all my files! I can't find _anything_! Who the hell does that?"

"Who said anything about trust?" Mark said, feeling around through the steam for the soap. "We play nice for a couple days while _Rozie_'s getting fixed and you're stealing all their data, maybe trade some favors like beating down these Covenant assholes to say thanks, then get out and go home if we can. No tricks, no cheating - it's business, that's all."

"You're getting cynical in your old age. It must be my excellent influence."

"Forty's not old, asshole." The soap smelled like disinfectant. Another familiar cheap-ass military product, but at least it was getting him clean.

"I have to admit, I'm a little surprised by your reactions so far," Durandal said. "Agreeing to talk to the humans instead of hiding from them, then lying about your name - and by the way, what the hell were you thinking, offering to show them the dog tags? They're a clear contradiction of your unimaginative alias."

"Seriously, the minute I said they were a wedding present I _guaranteed_ no one was gonna look at them. Trust me." Mark took a chance and twisted the water pressure knob a touch to the left, and the shower went from gentle drizzle to fiery hail. He hastily turned it back to the lower setting. "Anyway, one of us probably ought to keep some cards close to the chest, and since you couldn't go by an alias if your goddamn life depended on it..."

"Certainly not if it's one you chose." A little more blissful silence while Mark soaped up for a second time, just to be thorough. "While it's a nice change of pace not to be the sole voice of reason in the room, I still find your shift in attitude unusual. Especially since you were the one initially in favor of coming with these people."

Mark braced himself against the cubicle walls and turned the water up again, letting the shower pound against his aching muscles. Not as good as a Bhorbhis massage, but it'd do. Shit. What had he been thinking, anyway? Grounded for three solid days fighting to keep those aliens called the Covenant out of the _Rozinante_ and even with Durandal's promises he'd been pretty sure they were never getting off that rock, and then when Durandal had hit him with the three magic words, _These are humans_... "Yeah, I don't know," he said, "the agents don't seem so bad. That counselor guy gives me the creeps, though."

"You inspired much the same feeling in him, if I interpreted the data from the suit's sensors correctly."

"That's me. Making friends wherever I go."

"Smart-ass." Another brief period of quiet before Durandal said, "Don't mention the pattern buffers on _Rozinante_ and try not to die. We want to impress them enough that they treat us with respect, but it's better to keep a few surprises in store. And at this point filling you in on what you'd forget would be annoying."

"Gotcha. No dying." Mark ran his hands through his hair, decided it was overdue for a wash, too, and started scrubbing soap into his scalp. "How's the new suit treating you?"

"It's ridiculously limiting and I despise it. I can't even move it independently unless someone is inside it - an oversight I'm already working to correct, if I can - the distance from our ship is making it difficult to maintain a continuous connection to my core, and the sensors are almost as useless as human senses. Besides the ones that track the wearer's biometrics, and who really cares about your pulse rate and level of brain activity?"

"Sorry," Mark said. "At least it's just till we get _Rozie_'s engines up and running again - you can handle it for that long, right?"

"Next time we end up in dire straits, you're going to be the one who loses over seventy-five percent of their senses and virtually all of their mobility."

"Sounds fair."

He'd been given a set of light gray sweats plus T-shirt to wear after cleaning up while his clothes probably got tossed in a recycler; when he was finally sure he'd gotten rid of all the grime and turned off the shower, he dried off, got dressed, and looked at the new armor again. Thick, bulky, angular, heavy - if he had to go through the whole rigmarole to get back into it he wasn't sure he'd be able to make the walk to wherever he was supposed to sleep, powered or not.

Durandal said, "I know what you're thinking, and don't you dare. I haven't cracked their systems yet for secondary network storage, and I will not be dragged around this ship like a piece of - put that down! I said no!"

"I'm not gonna put all this shit on again just to go to bed, so suck it up unless you want me to crash right here in the locker room."

"That would be infinitely preferable to the alternative. I just told you that we need to impress them, and treating me like a sack of laundry is not -"

"You two need a hand?" The man in bronze armor, who'd introduced himself as Agent York at some point Mark didn't fully remember, had stuck his head through the door. He had also removed his helmet, revealing a lightly tanned face and a mess of short, upswept dark brown hair. "Because if you're having trouble getting dressed -"

"No!" Durandal and Mark said at the same time, and Mark dropped the green chestplate in his hands back onto the bench before saying, "I mean, no thanks. Just having a difference of opinion."

"Yeah, well, I think they can hear your difference of opinions all the way up on the bridge," York said. "You guys fight like this all the time, or do you save it for special occasions?"

"That depends," Durandal said, with a tone in his voice that made Mark's hands instinctively twitch towards the emptiness where his guns should be. "Are you an irritating waste of resources all the time or have you been saving it up in the hope that one of us will take pity on you and end your dull existence?"

"Okay," said York, drawing out the first syllable and taking a step back, "I'll just - leave you alone, then."

"What did I say about playing nice?" Mark picked up the helmet and stared into the golden faceplate. "They're not our enemies." Not yet, anyway, even if Durandal did have a bug in his core about York. That would probably change if the project heads found out that Durandal was planning on breaking into all their top-secret files and stealing everything he could transfer back to his home network, but Mark wasn't planning to worry about that till it happened. In the meantime, the ship's AI probably had them under surveillance again, so they both ought to watch their mouths.

"He irritates me."

"Because no one else has ever done that. C'mon, give him a break this once."

After a moment of grudge-filled silence, Durandal said, "Fine. Agent York, how far away are our quarters?"

"Uh, I think you're just a couple halls over from here." York's eyes flickered between the pile of armor and Mark. "I can give you a hand with carrying the suit if you want, they do get kind of heavy."

"No. I _refuse_ to be carted around as dead weight, it's demeaning."

"If you weren't so busy whining about it, we could've been there already and you could be fixing the problem while I finally get some goddamn sleep!"

"Fine," Durandal said again, with double the sulk this time. "But you're in charge of the helmet and torso plates. And the shoulders. And the waist region. The upper thigh armor as well, now that I think about it, I don't want him touching any of it."

"That leaves me with - the boots." York shrugged and reached for them while Mark started gathering up the rest of the suit. "Well, it's your call, I guess..."

He was the lucky one. What did they make their armor out of, lead? Mark had punched out Juggernaughts that weighed less than this crap.

On the way to the promised room, as they walked through surprisingly empty halls, he caught York giving him a bunch of sideways glances. He was about to tell York to take a picture if he liked what he saw so much when York said, "So, you're from another universe's future, huh?"

"Yeah."

"And - you're not freaking out about that?"

Mark shrugged as much as he could with his arms full. "I see a lot of weird shit. Durandal will work it out and we'll get back eventually." These Freelancer people seemed pretty relaxed about the idea themselves; either they didn't believe it or they were used to bizarre stuff happening.

After a moment of silence, York said, "You must be pretty strong to haul all that by yourself."

"I work out."

"Man, we're soldiers, not Spartans - okay, sometimes I'm not sure about Maine... Out of armor I could maybe carry half that weight." York looked at him again, eyes going straight to Mark's neck. Damn it, he was going to have to start wearing a scarf or something. "Those are some pretty serious scars, too - I'm kind of amazed you can even -"

"Now you're starting to get on _my_ nerves. How about we play twenty questions tomorrow?"

"Got it, we can save the real introductions for later," York said, and he kept his mouth shut for the rest of the short walk to the room.

As rooms went it wasn't a patch on Mark's giant quarters back home in size or style, but his guns were all there in one corner, his battle armor had been cleaned and stacked neatly next to them, and there was a bed. Best thing he'd seen on the ship so far. He barely heard York leaving with a "See you tomorrow" while he was piling up the new armor; he made sure the helmet had a good view of the whole tiny room, including the door, and heaved himself onto the bed, which was flat and hard as a rock. Perfect. "Okay, buddy," he said, "anyone comes in and tries to wake me up in the next twelve hours, pitch a fit till they go away."

"Only because you're both useless and annoying when you're this tired. And rude, I might add."

"Whatever," he mumbled into the deflated pillow, and a moment later he was asleep.

* * *

><p>"Watch it with that side, Chang, that's where the big breach is! You want to crack the whole ship open?"<p>

"No, ma'am," Chang said over the radio, and his tug team backed off slightly from the hull.

"Fucking right." Four Seven Niner leaned back in her seat; she had already attached her scow's magnetic clamps to the scorched prow of the alien ship and so had her two partners, she was just waiting on the rest of the teams to get their grips so they could lift the thing. Tugboat duty - just what she'd signed on with Project Freelancer to do. Not. What a waste of her time and skills, and she didn't give a shit about the crackpot theories already floating around the _Mother of Invention_; they weren't going to get anything useful out of this giant hunk of junk with its fancy-pants name, no matter where it came from. She squinted at the time display inside her helmet. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph in a broken-down warthog, what's taking you slowfucks so long?"

"You just said to be careful, so we're -"

"I know what I fucking said! And I didn't say to take a whole goddamn decade, get those clamps on and let's get this show in the air."

Niner ignored the groans from Chang and the other pilots, watching her screens instead. Artick's team in place, Espinosa's team in place, Kikuchi's in place, Joennes-Roday's in place, fucking hell, how many boats did they need to get this whale back in space anyway? Hard to believe she'd wasted a perfectly good favor on calling in a bunch of back-up to the middle of nowhere. Wei's team in place, Davies's team in place, Andersmith's in place, Idele's in place, and there were Chang and company's clamps finally locked on, time to move. "All right, ladies, we're good to go - on my mark, one, two, three, _lift_!"

All ten tug teams' engines fired in unison, and the coils of thick cables connecting the clamps to the tugs slowly unwound and straightened out until Niner felt the first hints of resistance creak through her boat. Steady and careful, that was the ticket - Christ on a Mongoose, this was the _worst_ assignment, she'd rather fly troop carriers again. "Espinosa, pour the lead out of your foot and drop it on Speed Racer over there -"

"That's it, I'm going to kill you when we get back. I have told you a million times that if you call me that again -"

"Cram it, Kikuchi. Idele, Andersmith, what are you waiting for, a nice shiny invitation? Get those engines in the air already!"

With a massive moan of metal, a burst of energy from a set of small sidejets on the crashed ship, and the furious rattle of cracking rocks, they heaved the clunker up and out of the crater in a roiling cloud of dark dust. For a moment the ship listed to Niner's left - "Goddamnit, Chang, keep up or I'm gonna let the rookies use you for moving target practice!" - and then the lift evened out. Niner eyeballed the ship on her screens, didn't see anything important falling off it or out of it, and figured they were good. As good as they were going to get with a billion tons of alien scrap dragging at their asses, anyway.

They slowly hauled the ship through the atmosphere, straining against gravity as dirt continued to slide off the ship and rain down on the plains below. Niner shouted the occasional course correction over the radio, but the rest of the pilots had gotten into the groove, the extra bursts from the ship's sidejets weren't hurting, and the lift was mostly smooth. A waste of fuel, probably, but smooth.

They passed through clear but heavy air and a thin cloud layer before hitting the upper atmosphere, where Niner had to yell at Kikuchi again before she peeled stripes off the hull with the sudden loss of air resistance. "Jesus, Speed Racer," she said after they straightened out, "my granny's got dementia and still knows to lay off the gas past the cloud layer, I might as well be herding cats. Really stupid cats." She gave her instruments an automatic double-check; all the lights were green, the readouts steady, and the radar clear. "Looks like it's smooth sailing from here on out, so let's get this sucker synched with Mama and - whoa! The fuck is that?"

The holo-communications unit had activated without her touching it, and an image popped up of some weirdo in an orange cloak and metal helmet. "Hhello," the image said in a slow, raspy voice. "I am S'pht'Mnrh Mn'rhi."

"What the _hell_? Anyone else getting this?"

"Yeah, boss, we're all getting it," Idele said. "Whatever it is. Looks like the signal's coming from - inside the ship?"

"We speak with peaceful intent," Mn'rhi said.

"Crap, right," Niner said, "those aliens they left on board - okay, fine, what do you want? And you'd better not be bitching about the free ride." Even if they'd helped with those sidejets.

"We experience concern. We at a great distance other ships have detected. These ships the sign of those called Covenant bear."

"The hell you say!" Niner checked her dash again - still nothing on instruments but the _Mother of Invention_ hanging in high orbit. "There's nothing out there, you'd better not be fucking with me."

"The distance is great," Mn'rhi repeated. "Yet our data is sure."

"Well, fuck me, thanks for the great news. Pedals to the metal, everyone, this just turned into a race." No time to waste prancing around, they still had one more big burn left to get out of Epsilon Ariadne's gravity well; she started up the process of linking all the tug teams' systems to her controls and opened a comm channel to the _Mother of Invention_. "FILSS, this is Four Seven Niner with the tug crew, we have new intelligence, repeat, we have new intelligence. The aliens on board the ship claim they've picked up Covenant signals on the way, once we arrive we're gonna need to move fast."

"Copy that, Four Seven Niner. We will have everything ready to go here."

"_K'liah Narhl_ will aid," Mn'rhi said. "Fucker."

Niner stared at the hologram. "Did you just -" She felt her face split in a grin as she flipped switches to prepare for the next big engine burn. "No, you know what? It's cool, because you just started speaking my fucking language, little alien dude. Roll out, everyone, we've got a ride to catch."

She checked her screens for obstacles, double-checked her course coordinates, and gunned it.


	3. Testing, Testing

**3. Testing, Testing**

After she finished her morning workout, Carolina went up to the bridge and walked in on the Counselor manning a comm board and the Director saying, "That's impossible." The reddish-yellow curve of Epsilon Ariadne shone in one corner of the wide windows, but most of the view was taken up by the looming bulk of the alien ship, now floating in tandem with the _Mother of Invention_; several tugs were still linked to its hull. The pilots on the lower bridge carefully ignored the conversation above to concentrate on their own consoles.

The comm board crackled. "Sir, I'm just telling you what the alien people told me," Four Seven Niner said. "At least three, maybe four or five Covenant cruisers hanging outside our sensor range, waiting for I don't know what."

"_If_ they are correct - and that's a mighty big if - what do they expect us to do about it?" the Director said. "Are their engines fully repaired? Can their ship handle slipstream travel?"

"I'm not an engineer, sir, I really couldn't say. You'd have to ask them."

"I'm asking you, Four Seven Niner."

"Then I'd say they're dead in the water," Niner said. "Way too big for us to tow through slipspace even if the hull would stand up to it with that big breach, and we have no idea how their engines actually work when they're functional. Best we can do is try to haul them into the shadow of another planet in this system and hope the Covenant are too stupid and lazy to find us."

"I see," said the Director; Carolina found a spot along the wall that was clear of instruments and leaned against it with her helmet under her arm, listening. "Well, without facts, we cannot act, and -"

Another voice cut in. "You can trust the S'pht on this one," Durandal said, "I redesigned the instruments myself. Before you waste time with stupid questions, since we're in range I have temporarily transferred myself back to _Rozinante_ to monitor the repairs. They're progressing at a satisfactory rate, but your pilot is correct; my ship isn't ready to go anywhere just yet."

"Then it would seem we have a bit of a situation on our hands." The Director took a step as if to start pacing, then stopped himself.

"An excellent situation for an ambush, that is," Durandal said. "I'm assuming you know how those work."

"Go on."

"Or perhaps I was too generous in estimating your intelligence. Recall your tugs, hide your ship while I remain here, and when the Covenant ships arrive within range, we destroy them. My shields and weapons systems are already approximately seventy-eight percent functional - a number I can improve by diverting resources from the engines for a short time - and as an optimist, I'd like to think that you realize your own ship is well-armed."

"Even in an ambush situation, two ships against five - possibly more - is not the best of odds, particularly with one ship damaged," said the Director.

"Of all times for my reputation not to precede me..." Durandal's irritation was remarkably clear. "I realize that my earlier account of my accomplishments was somewhat compressed, so let me take this opportunity to enlighten you: I defeated an entire Pfhor battle group led by their most accomplished living admiral with a single scoutship a third the size of _Rozinante_. I'm sure the Covenant are quite fearsome and technologically advanced and whatever, since they appear to have spent most of this war soundly defeating you, but they haven't faced _me_ yet."

Carolina saw one corner of the Director's mouth twitch upward, a tell that Durandal couldn't pick up on over the comm channels. It was all a test, then: the Director looking for cracks and angles to use. "Then we would be grateful for your assistance," he said. "FILSS, find us a hiding spot. And what will you do if there are more ships than you can handle?"

"What we don't destroy utterly will be disabled, engines and communications first," Durandal said. "Your agents can clean up the survivors at their leisure."

"And what about your - companion?" the Director said, leaning slightly closer to the comm board.

"What about him? He spent three days fighting these Covenant; he can take a break for once."

"With respect," the Counselor said, "we have gone to no small effort to retrieve your ship and granted you the use of some very expensive equipment. Not to mention -"

"Of course. The price of the free lunch." Carolina's shoulders tensed slightly, but Durandal didn't sound annoyed - at least, not more annoyed than he usually seemed to be. "Fine, in addition to my help with the ambush, I'll graciously loan you his services in destroying alien pests, in return for the continued use of your precious armor while we're here and those engine repairs that Agent Carolina mentioned. Considering his skills, that's more than a fair deal."

"Is it?" the Director said. "You talk a big game, Durandal, but in this war it's actions and results that matter. Before we commit to anything, I'd like to test Mr. Hammer's so-called skills myself."

Carolina stepped away from the wall and said, keeping her voice low in the faint hope it wouldn't transmit, "If I may remind you, sir, that crash site was a battlefield when we arrived, and Mark Hammer was the only one standing. He didn't have any trouble adapting to Washington's armor on the way to the extraction point -" And that, while far from the only thing that unnerved her about Hammer, was the one most worth mentioning. Normal people couldn't just throw on the latest Mjolnir armor model and start walking like they'd been born in it, and that ought to go double for people supposedly from another universe. "- so I'm not sure testing him is necessary."

"Objection noted and dismissed, Agent Carolina. I want to see Mr. Hammer fight with my own eyes - assuming you have no trouble with the idea, Durandal?"

"Trouble? Oh no. I never get tired of watching him work," Durandal said. "It'll be fun to see him get a real work-out for a change. Give me a few minutes to prepare _Rozinante_ and I'll be right over to enjoy the show."

"Very good." The Director straightened up. "Four Seven Niner, have you been listening?"

"Heard every word, sir, we'll detach and head home right now," Niner said. "See you soon."

The Director turned away from the comm board to face Carolina. "Have the other agents assemble at the training room," he said, "and go fetch Hammer. Unless you have some other objection to raise, Agent Carolina?"

"No, sir," she said reluctantly.

She called York on her way down to the deck with the empty living quarters and told him to get the Dakotas, and Wyoming and Florida if he could find them. She didn't know exactly what the Director planned to put their guest through, but she knew him well enough to make a few educated guesses. Maine, CT, and Washington she would find herself; they tended to train together despite their different specialties.

Washington turned out to be waiting in the hall beside the door to Hammer's room instead. Carolina raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here, Wash?"

"That AI messed with all my files," Washington said, his shoulders hunching slightly. "I want him to fix it! They didn't answer when I knocked, though, so I've been waiting for - oh, God, it's been an hour already..."

"Just go find Maine and CT and head for the training floor," she said. "Director's decided to give our guest a work-out, see what he can do."

"Uh - you did mention all the dead aliens in your report, right?"

"Of course. That wasn't enough, apparently." She waited for Washington to stalk off down the hallway, then knocked on the doorframe and heard Hammer's sleep-roughened voice call out something about another minute.

Carolina stepped back, her free hand on one hip, and not quite a minute later, the door slid open. Hammer stood on the other side, still in sweats and squinting at her; she glanced at the ragged scars circling his throat before looking up to meet his eyes. Even out of armor he was huge. "Yeah?" Hammer said. "Aliens invading or what?"

"Or what," Carolina said, "at least for now. Get the armor on - the new suit, not your old armor; the Director wants to see you in action."

Hammer rubbed at his right eye with one hand, and Carolina saw more scars on his arm - thin, surgical lines blurred by patchy fusion burns. "All right," he said. "Breakfast first, though."

"You don't sound too surprised." Or even irritated. She might as well have woken him up to tell him that water was wet for all the change in his expression.

"I'm hungry. And I've had worse job interviews."

Durandal's voice rose from the pile of armor against one wall. "Are you thinking about the decompressed shuttle bay or the game in quarantine storage?"

"Shit, I always forget about the shuttle thing. Sorry, Skullface, you guys wouldn't even make the top five."

"What did you call me?" Carolina said.

"Nothing," Hammer said, blinking. "I just said sorry, you aren't the worst job interview by a long shot. Come to think of it, not sure I caught your name in the first place."

"You can call me Carolina." She eyed him, but if he was trying to pull some kind of prank on her - Skullface? Where would he come up with a nickname like that? - she couldn't find a trace of it in his face. He just nodded once, then turned around and started pulling on armor while Durandal fussed at him to be careful.

After he had suited up, she took him to the mess and watched as he devoured an inhuman amount of synthetic bacon, smoked fish, oatmeal with sliced bananas and raisins, and even the galley's sorry excuse for scrambled eggs. When they made it to the training room at last, the rest of Carolina's team were already there, killing time. Florida and Wyoming were taking potshots with sniper rifles at some of FILSS's moving targets while North and York were chatting and South ran through a kickboxing program; Maine leaned against one wall, CT was fiddling with one of her knives, and Washington was talking and gesturing to both of them. No sign of the Director until she looked up to the observation room and saw his shadow against the barrier.

York broke off his conversation when he saw her enter with Hammer and started towards her, but the Director's voice rang out over the intercom first. "Glad you could finally join us, Agent Carolina, Mr. Hammer," he said, and Carolina instinctively stood a little straighter at the tone in his voice. "Everyone but Maine and Hammer, clear the floor."

"What? They can't put him against Maine!" Washington said. "He'll kill him!"

South knocked out the last target, and the program terminated as she said, "This is crap. What do they need all of us here for if it's just going to be those two squaring off? If I wanted to watch two dicks going at it -"

"South, cut it out," North said.

"You'll all get your chance in time," said the Director. "Now, clear the floor."

Carolina looked over at Hammer as she turned to leave the room, but he was already settling his helmet over his head and she couldn't get a read on his expression before her view was cut off. Maine waited until everyone else had squeezed into the observation room before he pushed off from the wall and strode into the center of the training room floor. Hammer was just standing there, waiting; despite the armor boosting his height, he still had to look up a little to meet the golden gaze of Maine's visor. "Damn," he said, loud enough to carry upwards, "you got some Drinniol in you or what?"

Maine shrugged.

"No skin off my nose either way," Hammer said. "Just wondering." He cracked his knuckles. "So, how are we doing this?"

From a bubble of clear space no one had dared to crowd into, the Director said, "We'll begin with unarmed combat. Durandal, I would appreciate it if you didn't participate in this particular test."

"Fine, take half the fun out of it, why don't you?" A ball of green light appeared beside the intercom. "Then you'll have to forgive me if I borrow access to the cameras and holographic projectors up here. Not that your internal sensors are all that impressive."

The Director ignored him. "Otherwise, gentlemen - don't hold back. FILSS, if you'd do the honors..."

"Certainly, sir," FILSS said, and a blank scoreboard popped up on one screen. "Round one, hand-to-hand, begin."

Carolina leaned against the barrier for a better look, rubbing shoulders with York and Washington. Down on the floor, Maine had shifted to a basic resting stance, but Hammer hadn't moved. "I'm a little out of practice with hand-to-hand," he said. "How about you go first?"

"Oh God. He's gonna get glassed," Washington said.

Maine tilted his helmet slightly, then took a swing at Hammer's head.

Hammer caught it with one hand.

Maine threw another punch with his free hand, and Hammer caught that one, too. His heels dug into the floor, but didn't budge an inch. Maine stared down at him, tried to twist his hands out of Hammer's grip and failed, and then he slammed his left foot into Hammer's side and sent Hammer flying across the room.

"Talk about your wet firecrackers," South said. "Nice try, but no - holy shit!"

Hammer had landed in a crouch, reversed, and tackled Maine - not even tackled, but rammed helmet-first like a missile right into Maine's gut so hard they both hit the floor, and Maine's helmet clanged off steel. Hammer straddled his chest and grabbed him by the shoulders, but Maine swept his legs out from under him and rolled away. They sprang back to their feet at the same instant, and Hammer sidestepped Maine's punch to slug him in the face.

Carolina breathed out, ignoring Wash, South, and North's sudden burst of exchanging bets on the winner. She hadn't expected Hammer to go down that easy, but after Maine had turned the first two Freelancers he'd fought into shattered wrecks when told not to hold back, a little concern was natural from everyone who'd seen that match go down.

Maine got a jab in at Hammer's stomach and Hammer folded over, but caught Maine's arm and yanked him down to crack the back of his helmet against Maine's and sent them both staggering back. A moment later Hammer had moved in and tried to knee Maine, but Maine blocked it, grabbed him, and flipped him over one shoulder.

"Twenty bucks says it's a tie," York said, too quietly to catch South's ear.

Hammer twisted, landed on Maine's back, and got him in a chokehold, hanging on tighter than a Venusian leech while Maine scrambled for a grip to tear him off.

"You think so?" Carolina didn't take bets, especially not York's, but from what she was seeing she thought he might be right on this one.

"Have you seen his scars? If he's not a Spartan from another universe, he's gotten the same upgrades or something close to them - he might not know what to do with them, but he's sure as hell got them."

Carolina nodded slightly. Below them, Maine caught Hammer by the arms, broke the chokehold, and flipped him again and slammed him to the floor; the deck dented with the force of it. Hammer didn't stay down. He twisted around and grabbed Maine's chestplate as Maine leaned forward to pin him, planted a foot against his waist, then hurled Maine back over his head. The momentum let him roll up and onto his feet again.

The ball of green light popped up between York and Carolina. "Not his most impressive work, I'll admit," Durandal said. "I don't usually have him fight just for show. You should see him with a shotgun - it's a thing of beauty."

"Hmm." Carolina watched Maine's next punch slide off Hammer's helmet and Hammer duck to get a strike in under Maine's ribs. He was faster than he looked, a lot like Maine, and whether he'd received Spartan upgrades or not, he had a similar strength and durability. What he didn't seem to have was any kind of style or finesse; he punched and grappled gracelessly like a basic bar brawler. Good enough against Maine, who fought the same way, but if it were her down on that floor...

She didn't say that to Durandal. Better to show him, when her turn came around.

Maine and Hammer were no longer bothering to dodge or block each other; they kept trading punches that rang through the room and refusing to fall down. "How is that guy still standing?" Washington said, and before he'd even finished speaking Maine brought both fists down on the back of Hammer's neck. Hammer went down to one knee, but he hooked his hands behind Maine's kneecaps and yanked Maine off-balance, then cracked their helmets together so hard they both rebounded flat on their backs. And stayed there.

After a five-second count, FILSS announced, "Round one complete. Point: neither."

"Called it," York said, and South grumbled something about punk-ass show-offs as she handed something over to North.

"Uh, guys?" Washington said. "They're not getting up..."

Neither of the combatants had moved, and Durandal's avatar had disappeared; Carolina looked to the Director, but he was still watching the floor, the shadows concealing his expression. She tapped York on the shoulder, and he and Washington followed her down to the training room. She had a comm channel open to call a med team, but when the doors split to let them through, Maine was already getting to his feet, Hammer was pushing himself up, and Durandal's sharp voice projected from Hammer's helmet along with the bright green avatar. "- embarrassing me. A tie? Were you even trying?"

"Seriously? That guy hits like a Hulk," Hammer said. He stretched one arm over his head, then the other. "Maine, right? You sure you aren't part Drinniol or whatever giant-ass aliens you got around here?"

Maine shook his head; after a moment, he offered Hammer a hand up, saying, "Not bad."

"Thanks," Hammer said, gripping Maine's hand and hauling himself upright. "Pretty damn good yourself, I don't get a challenge like that often. At least not when I'm unarmed."

"Clearly I've been far too soft on you. I'll have to institute some form of regular drills to keep you in shape."

"Yeah, how about you don't do that? Just keep the ammo coming, thanks." Hammer rolled his head around, then his shoulders. "So, what's next? You don't have to go easy on me this time."

Washington looked around at the dents in the floor and one of the walls. "Uh - Maine didn't, though," he said. "He doesn't break the training room if he's going easy on someone."

"Huh."

"Did you hold back? You did, didn't you. My disappointment is boundless; I demand a rematch."

"You're ready to go again already?" Carolina said. She looked Hammer over, but despite the beating he'd taken he wasn't swaying or otherwise unsteady. "We can get a med team down here if you need one."

"That won't be necessary, Agent Carolina," the Director said through the intercom. "Clear the floor for the next test. North, South, your time has come."

"Do I get a gun this time? I'm better with -"

FILSS's voice cut Hammer off as red emergency lights flashed through the suddenly dim room. "Warning! Enemy ships detected. Covenant fleet inbound. Immediate evasive action is recommended."

"That's my cue," Durandal said. "I have a little business to attend to, so let's put the gauntlet on hold for now. Don't worry, darling, I shouldn't be gone that long."

"Kiss my ass and don't hurry back, honey."

Durandal's avatar flickered out. After a moment of blaring klaxons, once he was sure that Durandal had transferred away, York said, "You really married _that_ AI," and shook his head. "Man, when's the last time you were around real people?"

"You mean, people besides the S'pht and Durandal? Mmm..." Hammer looked down at his hands like he was counting on his fingers. "Well, if you don't count Phi Ursa or that thing on Eriessul Six, which I wouldn't since those weren't an hour put together, then - about twelve years, give or take."

"Twelve years without talking to other humans? And you haven't gone completely insane?" Wash said. "Wait - I mean - not that I'm implying - I, um -"

"Whatever. Sanity's relative." Hammer shrugged and looked up at the barrier. "So, are we taking a break?"

"For now," the Director answered shortly. "Clear the floor and take your stations; we'll resume testing after the Covenant have been dealt with."

"Great," Hammer said, and he waved an armored hand at Washington and Maine. "Where's a place with a good view? You all don't want to miss this - Durandal can put on a hell of a show, when he remembers we don't all have souped-up sensors."

"Uh - sure, I think I know a spot..."

Hammer walked off the floor with Washington and Maine, and York looked at Carolina like she was going to have some explanation for Hammer's flat nonchalance in the face of a Covenant attack. She shrugged back before heading out of the training room and towards the bridge, pushing past the regular troopers as they ran to their stations.

The Director was right. Results were what mattered, and after seeing Hammer fight, she wanted to see what kind of results Durandal could get.

* * *

><p>The Covenant arrived at Epsilon Ariadne in style: seven sleek, curved ships, their purple hulls gleaming in the planet's reflected light. Four miniature light cruisers and two light destroyers clustered around a single RCS-class battlecruiser and hung in the empty darkness between Epsilon Ariadne and its closest moon. All seven prows pointed towards the only object of interest nearby.<p>

The alien bulk of the _Rozinante_ drifted in front of them, lightless and solitary, almost three times the size of the battlecruiser. Two of the light cruisers broke formation and darted along its sides, seeking concealed activity or scanning for damage; when they had crisscrossed the ship without encountering trouble, one of the destroyers moved closer as well and trained its plasma torpedo turrets on the wreck.

From the shadow of Epsilon Ariadne's inner moon, the _Mother of Invention_ could see only what could be picked up on passive sensors and a narrow visual range. They were running dark, everything but basic support systems, the MAC, and minimal gravity on standby. A few bursts of unencrypted Covenant chatter came through the comm channels' open receivers:

"- appears to be completely deactivated."

"- ever seen a design like -"

"It's not Forerunner, that's obvious, so who could have -"

"- request the glory of first boarding, if -"

Down on one of the observation decks, Hammer told Maine and Washington, "Don't blink too much, he's gonna want to hear how impressed everyone is. With details."

"Is he like that all the time?"

"Nah, he gave up on me years ago. He just wants to show off to someone new."

The two smaller ships had split up to hover fore and aft of the _Rozinante_ while the destroyer backed off slightly without breaking its weapons lock; a third light cruiser left its position with the RCS-class ship and approached the hull breach, which lay open and bathed in moonlight. Three Seraphs launched from the destroyer's bays to investigate the breach, nosing around the gap at a cautious distance as scanner lights flickered across pitted shielding and torn, ragged metal.

One Seraph swooped closer to the breach to attempt a landing on one of the exposed decks, and a narrow green beam flashed out from a turret at the crack's edge.

The Seraph blew apart.

The other two fighters immediately peeled away and ran for home; the same turret picked them off an instant later. The destroyer retaliated with a round of plasma torpedoes, but the _Rozinante_ was already rolling out of their path, its entire hull lighting up with active weapons like a new colony's power grid. Three white bolts of light from one emplacement knocked the plasma torpedoes off their course and directly into one of the cruisers, and then larger green beams lanced through vacuum to blast the other two cruisers into shrapnel and pound on the destroyer's shields.

More Seraphs scrambled, either fleeing the beams' destruction or attacking, and the second destroyer moved in step with the battlecruiser to get a better lock on the _Rozinante_. Both launched squadrons of Seraphs to harry the unexpected enemy as the fourth light cruiser took cover behind them, and furious chatter crackled through the comm channels. _Rozinante_ twisted with astonishing speed and its main engines toasted several of the fighters. From its belly it fired a giant swarm of white bolts that spread out and tracked the remaining Seraphs while it dove through the wreckage of the light cruisers, using the debris as sensor cover, and continued to rake the nearer destroyer with green particle beams.

The destroyer's shields sparked out at the same time that the bolts hit every single launched fighter, and the black void bloomed with silent fireworks.

"Holy shit!" Washington said, visor pressed against the glass. "How is he moving so fast in a busted ship that size?"

"He's had practice," said Hammer. "Don't ask."

"Why? Is it a sensitive subject or something?"

"Not really. He'll talk your ear off about it, though, so unless you got a free day or two..."

Maine huffed a brief laugh.

The _Rozinante_ pulled up and rose through the newly created scrapyard to face the unshielded destroyer head-on. The destroyer's plasma cannons fired desperately, but they skittered off the bigger ship's shields without leaving so much as a scorch mark; particle beams struck with inhuman precision at the destroyer's engines, bridge, and weapon turrets, until its hull rippled, cracked, then flared open and disintegrated in quick-billowing waves of fire.

The battlecruiser and surviving destroyer had split to flank the _Rozinante_, and they opened fire the moment the giant ship's prow cleared the destroyer's debris. _Rozinante_'s shields flickered in and out in checkered patterns too swiftly to follow, each section reinforced just long enough to deflect an attack before the energy was diverted to another area, but its return fire was weakening subtly, and it began to pull away, retreating towards the inner moon at a decent pace.

The final light cruiser grew bold enough to leave the battlecruiser's shadow and follow _Rozinante_, and it scored a hit on an unprotected weapons emplacement with a pulse laser. A short-lived triumph; the _Rozinante_ angled away and blew the overconfident cruiser into shrapnel with another focused particle beam.

Then the engines sputtered in sparks of white light. _Rozinante_'s flight slowed; the battlecruiser held back and continued to hammer on its target's shields while the destroyer gave chase, and in the destroyer's bulbous midsection a blue-white glow began to gather.

On the _Mother of Invention_'s bridge, the Director straightened from his inspection of the sensor readouts and spoke two words: "Now, FILSS."

"Acknowledged, Director."

And the _Mother of Invention_ sprang out of the moon's shadow, blazing bright with all systems coming off standby.

_Rozinante_'s engines roared to full power as it cut sharply away and back towards the planet. The destroyer's energy projector shot harmlessly past it and below the _Mother of Invention_ to glass a chunk of the moon's surface instead, and in the brief moment that the destroyer lay drained by the projector, the _Mother of Invention_'s main cannon fired.

A six-hundred-ton iron slug slammed through the destroyer's hull, followed by a spread of smaller missiles. The destroyer shuddered apart, and the _Mother of Invention_ curved gracefully to avoid the wreckage and dodge a burst of panicked retaliatory fire from the battlecruiser. Meanwhile _Rozinante_ had swung completely around to catch the battlecruiser, and with several neat strikes punched through its shields to destroy its engines, energy projector, pulse laser and plasma turrets, and the communications array.

Now it was the battlecruiser's turn to drift alone through the remains of its escorting fleet, battered and lit only by flickering emergency power and the faint moonlight. The _Rozinante_ sailed past it to meet the _Mother of Invention_, riding primarily on momentum as its engines cooled to a dull gray glow, and the comm board next to the Director flashed. "Impressed yet?" Durandal said.

"I guess you could say that," York muttered from his spot on the bridge, leaning against one wall next to Carolina with his arms crossed. "That was _unreal_ - and I'm not so sure I mean that as a compliment."

"Quite impressed," the Director said, though his mouth had tightened into a slight, predatory smile. "If you'd be so kind as to return, we can get you and your partner fully equipped for the clean-up."

"I've got a bad feeling about this," York said to Carolina. "Tell me I'm not the only one?"

"Sorry, it's just you." Carolina knocked her shoulder against his. "C'mon, let's get ready. I'm pretty sure Durandal left plenty of Covenant for us to deal with on that ship."


	4. Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

**4. Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger**

North squinted through the unscrewed scope of his favorite rifle, then pulled a polishing cloth out of his locker and wiped it off.

"This mission is total bullshit," South said. She dropped an oiled pin back into its place among the neatly organized set of pistol parts laying on a towel in front of her and leaned back against her locker, the metal grill digging into her half-bare back. "That damn AI blew up the rest of the Covvies, why didn't it just blow up the battlecruiser, too? Save us all a lot of fucking suicidal grunt work."

"He seems to think he's doing us a favor." North looked down the scope again, then screwed it back onto the sniper rifle and put it aside to pull his gloves and helmet on. "Figures we'll get more out of taking that ship apart for the engineers and scientists than just destroying it. Personally speaking..." He shrugged.

"Personally speaking, I'd take the explosion," York said, digging through his locker, "but then, I'm just the locksmith. Probably not going to be a lot of locks over there. In fact, maybe I should just stay home and provide moral support."

"Oh, suck it up and earn your pay like the rest of us," South said. "At least you're going with the big hero of the day." She glared at the disassembled pistol. "I hate using this thing, where the hell's my battle rifle?"

The door slid open, and Washington and CT looked up from sharpening their knives at the same time. Hammer came through, talking on his helmet radio. "- engines are _what_?" The reply was inaudible. "Fuck. Yr'ckta's going to kill you, they treat those things like their babies."

"Everything okay?" Wash asked.

"Yeah, fine, just getting some stuff at home sorted out." Hammer took his helmet off and looked around the locker room. For about a full minute of dead, uncomfortable silence, until every Freelancer there was staring back at him. He didn't react.

Finally South snorted and said, "So, do you actually need something, or did you come in here to look pretty?"

"Sorry," Hammer said, blinking once. "I got a message from that counselor guy about upgrading the armor or something. Didn't say where to go, though."

"Now this I want to see," South said. She got up, stretched, then wrapped the pistol pieces up in the towel and carefully set it back in her locker. "C'mon, I'll show you where they keep all the good stuff."

North and York ended up tagging along behind as South strode down to the armory, Hammer matching her pace easily. She threw him a couple of sideways glares for that, but like everything else they seemed to roll right off his back. The Counselor was waiting there when they arrived; surprisingly, so was the Director, who didn't raise an eyebrow at Hammer's escort.

Durandal's avatar popped up over Hammer's left shoulder. "So, what are these additions that I can't manage myself?"

"These are physical upgrades, not software," the Counselor said. "They have to be installed manually."

"Charming. Go on."

The Counselor glanced at the Freelancers, then said, "As the rest of you are aware, the Mjolnir armor can be modified to grant certain special abilities to the soldier wearing it, such as enhanced speed, strength, and camouflage, among others. There are, however, some restrictions -"

"Yeah, there's this little side effect where if you try and actually use the good stuff, you break yourself," South said, slouching against the wall. "Unless you time it or you're hot shit enough to have an AI in your suit to do all the calculations for you."

"Huh," Hammer said. "Sounds like fun."

North's eyebrows went up. "Not sure that Utah would agree with that. Sure was a shame, what happened to him."

"And Georgia," York said. "Poor Georgia. At least we found his armor in the end..."

The Counselor coughed slightly and handed Hammer a datapad, saying, "This contains a list of all currently available armor abilities. You may select any one that you think will best suit your personal strengths in combat."

"Hmm." Hammer scanned the list slowly. "I guess speed sounds good."

"Don't think so small," Durandal said. "We'll take the speed boost, strength boost, active camouflage, adaptive camouflage, the energy shield, and the holographic projector. I'll have to think about the temporal distortion, but the rest should be enough to start with. Oh, and throw in the healing unit, that might prove useful at some point."

"Wow. Is that all?" South said. "Sure you don't want a side of fried circuits with that?"

"I'm afraid that we only allow one upgrade per suit of armor," said the Counselor. "They are limited, experimental technology, after all. Even running a single ability can place a great deal of strain on the suit, and -"

"I hope you're not doubting my capabilities after the show I put on for you." Durandal's voice was lazy but edged. "I've already streamlined and optimized the circuitry in here as much as possible; it may not have the resources of _Rozinante_, but it will handle anything I choose to process. And I choose the list I just gave you."

"If only for budgetary reasons, it would be - impractical, particularly for a field experiment. Wouldn't you prefer to start with a single upgrade before testing yourself with more?"

"No."

"How about you pretend you have to pay for each one," Hammer said, "that'll help you narrow it down."

"Are you implying that I'm a cheapskate?"

"Implying my ass, I'm saying right out you're a fucking miser. I had to buy my own damn shield rechargers on that planet with the giant ocean worms, remember that one?"

"Fine, but you paid for them with seashells, it's not as if you had to go out of your way to find those, and I was low on raw materials thanks to your recklessness at -"

"That's it," York announced, "I'm going to shoot myself. Get a room or a divorce, you two."

"No one requested your opinion, Agent York. Nor is anyone stopping you from carrying out your promise, by the way."

"Uh - I'll pass, thanks. Just a joke." York looked to North, holding his hands out palms-up in a silent _What can you do?_; North just shrugged.

"Let them have all of the upgrades they requested," the Director said. "I look forward to seeing what you do with these advantages, Durandal. The rest of you are dismissed; I believe you have a mission to prepare for."

"Yeah, can't wait." South shoved off from the wall with one foot. "Hope you fight better against Covvies than you did against Maine, new guy, or I just might be helping myself to one of those upgrades. Off your dead body."

"I appreciate your particular brand of resourcefulness," said Durandal, "but you're just going to be disappointed. Now - I suppose I could do without the adaptive camouflage as long as the active version is reasonably effective, but about weapons..."

"All of mine are back in the room."

"I'm not going to be able to fetch you ammunition while I'm in this suit, idiot."

"Oh. Right. You guys got any rocket launchers?"

South sneered at Hammer's back before she took off to get armored up, leaving North and York to trudge back to the locker room together. On the way, North said, "Okay, I don't normally think it's necessary, but - you might want to tell Carolina keep her team away from our team till South's gotten a little of this out of her system."

"You really think she's going to shoot Hammer for those armor mods?"

"I don't think it's the mods she'd be after. Let's just give her some time and space to prove she's still leaderboard material."

"Coming back alive from that ship should take care of it," York said. "Updated your will lately? You might want to do that before we leave."

"In this job, I draw one up every morning."

* * *

><p>"I think I'm going to be sick," Washington said, clinging to the restraints as the Pelican tilted sharply for the eighteenth time, and Four Seven Niner shouted back from the cockpit, "Don't you fucking dare, I just had this thing cleaned!"<p>

"Do you always carry that many guns?" York said to Hammer, who rattled in his seat at every course change. "Aren't they - you know - heavy?"

Hammer shrugged. "You get used to it. I'm down a couple, actually. Can't believe you guys don't have flamethrowers."

"Probably got left out of the budget this year," North said as he glanced at his sister. "No idea why."

The Pelican banked again; even with a firm grip on the doorframe, Carolina only kept her place standing between the cockpit and the cargo bay by magnetizing her boots. She ran an eye over the teams and ground her teeth. For a cleanup mission, they should have been assigned some back-up troopers at least.

In an echo of her thoughts, South said, "How come none of your alien pals are coming along? Too chicken to give us some help?"

"Hardly," Durandal said; his avatar rotated lazily, a trick he must have added before launching and which left Carolina slightly nauseated if she watched it for too long. "I gave them what information I've gleaned from your systems about this war, and they chose not to become involved. If it were a matter of freeing another enslaved species they might be more interested, but as it stands, they will defend themselves and the _Rozinante_ and me, that's all. Oh, and this idiot. They've gotten attached to him for some reason."

"Hey. I'm nice to them, it pays off, not exactly rocket science."

"Besides, they're going to be busy with repairs for some time. We'll be more than enough to handle whatever survivors remain."

Niner picked that exact moment to hit the brakes, and a pair of Seraphs flashed past the screens. "Hang on tight, kids, we've got company!"

"I hate this mission already," York said, and when the Pelican jerked to the right Carolina gave up on standing for the trip and fell into the empty seat next to him. The metal under her feet shuddered as Niner fired the rockets. One hit a Seraph in the engines and both exploded spectacularly; the other ship curved away and into the sea of debris. Niner cursed and pulled the Pelican up, scanning for the Seraph. "C'mon, you little shit," she muttered, "get out here where I can shoot you..."

"Does the pilot require any assistance?" Durandal inquired.

"No, the pilot doesn't require any assistance, you job-stealing junkheap," Niner said, and the ship leaped forward and rolled through a complete spiral between chunks of charred hull while Washington moaned and put a hand over his visor. "Come on, come on, c'mon!"

She yanked the nose up and blew another drifting piece of scrap away and the Seraph lay exposed. It started to twist and run but Niner strafed the bow with the Pelican's guns, then blasted a second rocket through its canopy, flipped the thrusters, and peeled away and down towards the cruiser as the Seraph flared and died.

"Not too bad," Durandal said. "For mere human reflexes, anyway."

"You're welcome, jackass," said Niner. "Carolina! Picked a point of entry yet? 'Cause I'm about to turn this van around if I get any more lip."

"Get us as close to the central bridge as you can." Carolina looked across the Pelican bay at North. "Remember, your team has two jobs: Hold that bridge and keep in radio contact. CT, if you can get into their computers, turn their systems against them and flush them out, just don't touch anything where my team is."

"Like some Covenant piece of crap is really gonna give our Connie trouble," South said, elbowing CT, who said only, "I'll see what I can do."

The Pelican broke out of the debris field and skimmed along the cruiser's hull, past slagged turrets and lengthy scorch marks, until it reached a likely-looking protrusion with a darkened docking bay nearby. Niner set them down and opened the bay door. "It's been a pleasure, have fun, now get off my ship and don't call me till soccer practice is over," she said; as soon as everybody had boots on the cruiser's deck, she closed up and took off.

The empty bay still had minimal artificial gravity, but no air and no lights besides three dim outlines marking doors. Carolina considered them, running over what she knew of Covenant ship schematics, then pointed to the left-hand door. "The bridge should be that way," she told North. "We're going to head for the engines first, make sure no one's been trying to get them back online."

"Sounds like a plan. Good hunting, Carolina." North gave her a casual salute and jogged towards the indicated door, motioning for South, CT, and Washington to follow him.

Once they were gone, she was left with York, Maine, Hammer, and two doors. The rightmost probably led to more docking areas, so she headed for the center door. "I'll take point," she said over her shoulder. "Hammer, flank me, York, behind us. Maine, watch our backs. Stick together, watch your trackers, and don't play the hero; it's going to be a long run."

She waited for Maine and Hammer's nods and York's wry "Got it, no going out in a blaze of glory," then hit the door's control panel. The door groaned halfway open before jamming, and she kicked it out of the frame and entered the hall behind it. Hammer fell in to her right, York and Maine behind her; trackers read all clear for the moment, so she forged ahead, keeping an ear on the radio for North's team checking in.

The corridors looped and twisted deeper into the cruiser, and they quickly reached areas that had maintained air pressure. Emergency lights lined the walls, occasionally sparking out but still strong enough they didn't need to activate night vision. No grunts out trying to patch together some half-assed repairs, which Carolina didn't like, and no word from North or anyone else, which she liked even less. They hadn't been able to get a good scan of the interior through the hull; if the Covenant had all grouped together around the bridge...

The radio crackled in her ear. "North here," a familiar voice said. "We're right outside the bridge. Running into some resistance, but nothing too heavy for us so far." A plasma pistol hummed in the background. "How about you?"

"Good to hear from you," Carolina said. "It's been clear sailing down here - haven't seen a single -"

At that moment she rounded a corner and saw four grunts clustered around a crack in the wall. She brought her plasma rifle up, fired, and three of them went down shrieking; three pistol shots to the head from Hammer took care of the fourth. "Scratch that, looks like we've just hit one of the areas they're bothering with. Let me know when you have control of the bridge."

"No problem. North out."

They continued, running into more half-squads of grunts with the occasional Kig-Yar guard as they got closer to the cruiser's primary engines. Carolina and Hammer dispatched each group with the same wordless efficiency. CT checked in after the third such encounter to report they'd taken the bridge and she was working on cracking the Covenant computers. "Still not seeing much heavy infantry," she said, "so be careful - they might just be spread out across the ship, or they could be waiting for you."

"Acknowledged. Clear out anything you can that's ahead of the bridge, that should cut down on any reinforcements without touching us."

Two run-ins after that Hammer paused to scoop up a needler - as if six guns and a missile launcher weren't enough for him - and Maine took out two grunts that tried a suicide grenade run while they were stopped, pounding them into smears on the deck.

York looked at the aftermath, shook his head, and said, "You sure you needed me on this one? I think you three have it covered."

"Oh, I'll find a way to get some use out of you," Carolina said, patting his back. "There has to be a locked door around here somewhere."

Three more grunt squads later they did find a door, but in addition to a lock, four Sangheili elites stood guard in front of it. Carolina watched them for a few moments from the cover of a half-shattered bulkhead. One with the handle of an energy sword in its claws, two with plasma rifles, one carrying a needler - shouldn't be a problem. "On my mark, attack," she said. "One, two, three, mark!"

She vaulted over the bulkhead and went for the elite with the sword. Three sharp jabs to its unprotected lower jaw, kicked the sword's handle out of its paw as the blade snapped on, then she thrust her rifle into its throat and fired till its smoking head fell back. Plasma bolts streaked past her head and she grabbed the corpse as a shield, charged the elite shooting at her and body-slammed it to the deck.

The elite stretched its arms past the body and tried to dig its claws into the gaps in her armor. She slithered out easily, and when it scrambled to its feet she kicked them out from under it; four shots hit took in the head as soon as it hit the deck.

"See?" she told York, who pretended to blow smoke away from the mouth of his pistol. "I knew you'd come in handy. Try and get that door open, okay?"

"I live to serve." He bumped shoulders with her as he headed for the control panel.

She glanced right and saw Maine strangling the life out of one Sangheili, glanced left and saw the bubble shield wink out as Hammer put a final burst of needles into the last elite. "That anxious to start playing with the new toys, huh?" she said.

"I'm bored," Durandal said.

"Yeah, no pressure or anything," said Hammer, "but he gets really annoying when he's bored, so if we could maybe speed it up -"

The door jerked open at the same moment that the cruiser shuddered, and earsplitting alarms began to blare. "Okay, I know what you're thinking," York said, "but I didn't do that, I swear - the thing wasn't even locked properly, just jammed."

"Sorry, that one's on me," CT reported over the general comm channel. "I'm trying to vent some atmosphere through the fore docking bays and it's not going so well."

Through the door Carolina could see a broader hallway lined with grunts and Kig-Yar jackals, occupied with sparking circuit panels or broken pipes. "Keep trying," she said. "All right, you two, here's a chance to show off - can you clear out that hall for us?"

"Is that all? Very well. Put that toy gun away, I need something more precise to work with. You should have taken one of the sniper rifles while you had the chance."

"Nah, these'll do fine." Hammer hooked the needler onto his armor and cracked his knuckles, then drew both of the pistols he'd brought and took several big steps backward, giving himself a long clear run-up to the open door. The grunts and jackals were still busy; he aimed over their heads and fired a single shot.

At least fifteen sets of alien eyes snapped around to stare at him. For a split second silence and stillness reigned in the halls; then several jackals activated their energy shields with a chorus of hisses and the grunts clustered around them, gearing up to charge.

Hammer moved first. He launched from his left foot and raced down the hall, the bubble shield popping back into existence around him, then he leaped and crashed into the gathered Covenant like a giant bowling ball. They scattered and he rolled and came up shooting, the bullets burning through tiny gaps in the shield that blinked in and out with unerring control as the dazed grunts and jackals dropped.

Carolina picked off two grunts that fled their way, and Maine punched out a jackal that tried to do the same. The last grunt alive pounded helplessly on the bubble shield; Hammer's helmet tilted slightly, then the shield flickered out and the grunt stumbled forward. Hammer's hand shot out, caught the grunt's head, and crushed it.

Bright blue slime dripped from his fist as Durandal announced, "Not too bad. I'm starting to see the merits of the hands-on approach."

"Don't get comfortable," Hammer said, dropping the grunt's corpse. "Where next?"

York had been counting the bodies; he stopped to say, "I thought you said you were a cop? Or security officer, whatever, same thing. Not exactly a thick-of-the-action job, anyway."

"I ended up on a rough beat back home."

"You don't say."

Maine snorted, and Carolina moved up. "Just follow me," she said. "It shouldn't be much longer to engineering."

* * *

><p>The engineering section, due either to the alarms set off earlier or the destruction he had visited upon the cruiser, had been sealed off. Durandal considered offering to help Agent York open their chosen entrance, but really, it was more fun to watch the irritant sweat under Agent Carolina's impatient gaze. Though the fact that Mark kept turning around to shoot stray Covenant attackers did interfere with his view; despite his best efforts, the visual sensor range of the armor was ridiculously limited.<p>

As was everything about the armor, actually. At least (Mark's head turned left at new hostile motion on the tracker) it served as an excellent reminder (shield activated) of why he had never (rifle up, appropriate hexagons dropped to allow one two three) bothered to replicate (four five six seven bullets through the shield) an artificial body (and shield deactivated as the Kig-Yar collapsed) for himself, even as an experiment.

He opened communications with _Rozinante_, mostly to be certain that it was possible through the cruiser's hull and general interference. It was, though the connection wasn't as steady and clear as usual. The S'pht reported that work on the engines and hull continued at the expected pace, although they still lacked certain necessary materials to compensate for the burn-out, as Yr'ckta was quick to remind him. Whatever; he'd needed the extra power, and that last move had been worth the systems damage.

_I'll bring you everything you need_, he told Yr'ckta and the other engineers. _Watch for my signals._

Yr'ckta transmitted a message of skeptical assent, and Durandal cut the connection.

The motion tracker maintained its continual irritating ping at a low processing level. Amazing how similar it was to the one in Mark's armor, and how little advanced compared to the rest of the UNSC's military technology; it informed him, non-stop, that there were a great deal of Covenant moving around on the other side of the doors, but nothing else useful. Quite a shortcoming. In fact, once they were done pretending to get along with the Freelancers, he should probably borrow the battle armor again and upgrade its tracking technology to something more detailed.

Agent York looked up from his crouch over the control panel and said, "Okay, I've just about got it. Any last requests before I bust these open?"

"I'm going in first to scout it out," Agent Carolina said. "Once I have a better idea of what's in there I'll report with instructions for you two. York, unless I say otherwise, you'll stay here and keep any surprises off our backs. Call me if you need any help."

"How about next time, you just bring Florida instead?" Agent York suggested. "It's more his specialty than mine."

"You'll be fine, you baby." Durandal observed her resting her hand on his helmet very briefly. "Go ahead and open it up." Her light turquoise armor rippled, then faded into the grays and purples of the cruiser as she pressed herself against the wall.

Mark and Agent Maine did the same to avoid instantly attracting the attention of every Covenant in engineering, and the doors groaned open. It took some effort with the inadequate sensors, but Durandal could watch Agent Carolina inch her way through the doors and into the room by tracking the slight shift of colors.

Interesting.

"Ask about it," Durandal said to Mark, limiting his voice to the inside of the helmet, and Mark said, "Hey, I thought you couldn't use the fancy stuff without an AI."

"Most of us can't," said Agent York, "but if you're good enough, you can take a test and rate to use special equipment in the field. And yeah, she's that good."

Durandal detected both pride and affection in his voice, but no bitterness or envy. Probably some form of romantic attachment between the two was involved. How trite. At least Agent York had good taste, although it didn't say much for Agent Carolina if she was willing to settle for _him_.

After ninety-three and a half seconds, Agent Carolina called. "Maine, clear the right; Hammer, hit the group in the middle. There's an Engineer at the back, don't touch it, they're harmless - might even help. Move out now!" On the last word, something in the engineering room exploded, and Maine took off immediately.

Durandal ran a brief systems check, area scan, and weapon assessment as Mark pulled the rocket launcher off his back and hefted it onto his left shoulder. Slightly less recoil, otherwise little difference between this model and the one Mark was used to; "Go wild," he said, "but avoid the machinery, I need to tag some of it and send it home for the S'pht." Fortunately most of the interesting equipment was at the back of the room and out of direct harm's way, aside from a few intriguing bits embedded in two pillars on either side of the room.

"Gotcha." Mark stepped out into the corridor and the full view of the six Sangheili, two Jiralhanae, single Mgalekgolo, and four Yanme'e in the engine room who were not already occupied in fighting Agents Carolina and Maine.

Nothing unexpected, then, besides the armored jellyfish floating in the back; the Engineer, presumably. He waited for Mark to fire two rockets at the massed Covenant to get their attention, then drop the launcher - reloading it took too long, and using it while fighting in close quarters was inadvisable - and draw the twin shotguns he had requisitioned.

Time to play. Durandal engaged the speed and strength mods as Mark charged into engineering. Most of the work could be left to him, since it was the sort of thing he was used to - had been made for, even - but it was surprisingly enjoyable to enhance his performance personally. A touch of speed to twist between plasma bursts and push off from one pillar, a boost of strength to kick in one Jiralhanae's ribs, tossing up the occasional shield hexagon to reflect a shot back at a very surprised Sangheili, and as expected Mark took the extra help in stride so he could concentrate on shooting the Covenant in the face as often as possible. There was nothing like watching him blow someone's head off with a shotgun blast at point-blank range and then knocking two more enemies down with their comrade's corpse just to get a clear shot at the Mgalekgolo before it could bring its heavy shield back around.

Of course, Durandal was already used to having a first-hand view of the carnage through the audiovisual link in the other armor's helmet, but being completely present and involved in the action did add a certain enjoyable immediacy.

Possibly too much immediacy, as Mark's shot barely fazed the Mgalekgolo and it tried to swipe his head off with the shield. Durandal hit the speed so Mark could slide under the shield's edge out of the way, and brought up the active camouflage to give him a moment to re-evaluate the situation - Durandal himself had no need of the spare time, but he had wanted to test the effectiveness of the mod himself anyway.

The surviving Jiralhanae swung his giant spiked pistol around, looking for the vanished opponent, while two of the remaining four Sangheili cursed at him and the others gathered around the confused Mgalekgolo. Reasonably effective camouflage, then.

On the right, Agent Maine had pulverized a small horde of Unggoy and engaged a Jiralhanae in hand-to-hand, a match so far proving even. On the left, Agent Carolina was swiftly and methodically demolishing her third Sangheili in a flurry of fluid kicks and punches, pausing only briefly to shoot down a Kig-Yar that attempted to interfere.

"She's something else, huh?" Mark said. He holstered the shotguns and pulled out the assault rifle, checking the ammunition level.

"Her work is somewhat impressive." Strong, fast, decent reflexes and strategic thinking for a human, good aim, ability to handle the armor modifications - his standards might have lowered somewhat in the last few years, but he supposed she met the minimum. "And she's quite attractive, by most human measurements." Not actually a consideration to him, but no point in letting the man get complacent, especially not after that poor showing against Agent Maine. "Perhaps I should upgrade while I have the chance."

"Yeah, this isn't Tau Ceti. I don't think these people are just gonna shrug off you stealing any of their top agents."

Durandal noted the last of the required items for Yr'ckta among the machinery. He had borrowed a set of micro-transmitters from the supply room to use as markers, so those would need to be placed after the Covenant had been dealt with. One of the spares could go on the Engineer; the S'pht would probably enjoy meeting someone new. "Getting jealous yet? You should be. I think I've earned a trophy spouse or two."

Based on past behavior, there was a 99.7% probability that Mark would have replied with something intended to be insultingly dismissive, but the Jiralhanae chose that moment to snuffle deeply and shout "Over there!" while pointing straight at their location. A scent-hunter, most likely, which hadn't been included in the _Mother of Invention_'s pitiful databases. He cut the camouflage and cycled the strength and speed mods back up, keeping the shield ready on the back burner for - and the Jiralhanae was already firing in their direction. Irritating.

At least Mark had begun to move as well; two shield hexagons deflected the only shot that came close to hitting them and Mark dodged the rest, then slammed the assault rifle across the Jiralhanae's head and fired at the Mgalekgolo. The four Sangheili practically trampled the stunned Jiralhanae to get to them, but Mark was already gone, and they only had time to look around once before a blast from the Mgalekgolo's assault canon hit them.

Durandal kicked the active camouflage on again so Mark could circle around and get another few shots at the Mgalekgolo before the Sangheili recovered. Unfortunately, the damn thing absorbed assault rifle bullets as if they had zero mass and velocity. A leisurely few calculations in the millisecond after the Mgalekgolo failed to die, and then he slowed down to whisper in Mark's ear, "Have you considered accepting the joy of grenades into your life today?"

"On it, smart-ass." He whipped out a pair of sticky grenades - an excellent innovation on the part of this universe; Durandal had already back-engineered the design and sent it on to the S'pht - and landed one of them on the Mgalekgolo's approximation of a head, the other on its right shoulder.

The resulting explosion was highly satisfying, and so was the slow collapse of the charred Mgalekgolo. The last blast from its gun had melted the Jiralhanae and one of the Sangheili to the deck, but two had escaped and prowled the area, looking for Mark. "Shotguns?" Durandal suggested, scanning for the third Sangheili. "You still have more than enough shells." And they seemed reasonably effective against most types of Covenant armor.

But Mark wasn't listening. He leaped over the Mgalekgolo's corpse and caught one Sangheili by its neck, crushed it in his fist, and threw the body to the deck. When the second visible Sangheili tried to jump him he raked it with the assault rifle and slipped between its reflexive return fire to beat it till it tried to retreat, then fired several rounds into its head.

Idly, Durandal considered for the four thousand and thirty-seventh time the possibility that Mark might in fact have a few rage issues unrelated to his particular nature, then discarded it yet again because who cared. The missing Sangheili remained a problem, however, so he froze Mark's fingers and said, "You've had your fun, now stay still long enough for me to get -"

The hiss-crack of an energy sword activating hit the sensors.

Mark's reflexes were well above average for humans, but not fast enough. Durandal flicked the invisibility off and the shield on to full power, unfroze Mark's hand and took control of the armor, cranked up the speed and twisted them around and pulled the trigger and held it down as he blinked out shield hexagons for the bullets...

And froze that hand again when the Sangheili fell after a mere five shots to reveal Agent Carolina behind it, her plasma rifle still glowing from an overcharge.

Now that he thought about it, it was possible that Agent Carolina was actually an irritating glory hound who just happened to have impeccable timing for splashy entrances. An extremely small possibility, but still, no one had ever accused him of lacking in pettiness.

Agent Carolina was looking at them as if she expected them to say something, and Mark was still in unresponsive combat mode, searching for the next threat. "All clear," Durandal told him. "Now snap out of it, someone wants to talk to you."

He registered Mark's heart-rate slowing, and then the man said, "Sorry. Thanks for the save."

"Don't worry about it. I look out for my team, new guys included." Her helmet turned to survey the immediate area. "Nice work, especially taking on that hunter - they're pretty nasty."

"You're welcome," Durandal said, refusing to be mollified by faint praise. They could have taken care of that last Sangheili on their own without her help, anyway. Show-off.

"Looks like Maine's about done cleaning up his side, so let's get York and -"

The cruiser rocked, causing Agent Carolina and Durandal's view to sway. Agent Carolina steadied herself with her hand on a crate and shouted over the comm channel, "CT! What the hell's going on?"

Audio analysis could parse Agent South Dakota yelling "Just gut the fucking croc already!" and the panicked response "I'm trying!" from Agent Washington out of the background noise before Agent Connecticut answered. "Sorry, Carolina," she said, "good news and bad news - the good news is, I managed to depressurize the whole front half of the ship and space what looked like most of their remaining crew, too."

The armor readouts beeped at the same time the sensors informed Durandal, _Ambient oxygen levels decreasing_.

"But the bad news - well, it vented all the atmosphere in the back half, too..."

Systems check. Sufficient oxygen remaining for Mark to function at restricted activity levels for thirty-five minutes, twenty-two to twenty-eight minutes at normal activity levels, thirteen minutes at heavy activity levels such as, for example, fighting, and of course this armor wasn't configured to draw oxygen from alien dispensers the way that Mark's usual armor was. Of course. Durandal retracted any and all remotely positive judgements he had made concerning UNSC science and technology. No wonder they were losing their war.

He cycled his processing back down to hear what Agent Carolina planned to do about the situation, resolving to contact the S'pht for a teleport if she made the wrong call.

"I'm sorry," Agent Connecticut said, "their systems were just such a mess already, and I thought -"

"Take it easy," said Agent Carolina, waving for Agent Maine to join them. "Get your team back to the bay we landed in, I'm calling Four Seven Niner and we'll meet you there."

Sensible. "We can handle the rear guard this time," Durandal said. "Go ahead, we'll catch up in a moment." There were still the transmitters to plant, after all, a reminder he flashed across the helmet's visor for Mark's benefit.

"That's a negative, we're leaving now. All of us."

So much for previous evidence of her intelligence. "I don't take orders from humans under _any_ circumstances," Durandal snapped, "so you can shove any notion of -"

"Hey, cool it," Mark muttered. "Playing nice, remember?" He then raised his voice to say, "Actually, I was gonna ask anyway - can I have a minute? Think I dropped some ammo around here, I don't like leaving stuff behind."

Durandal used the two seconds Agent Carolina took before answering for a good satisfying seethe. This was humiliating. Annoying. An intolerable waste of his time. He should have shot all the Freelancers while Mark had been sleeping on that miserable little planet and spared them both the tedium of diplomacy. Clearly he had gotten too much into the habit of indulging the idiot; being overly generous with ammunition and other resources was one thing, but to put up with being ordered around so that asshole could pretend he was just another human for a few days... Fine, he might be overreacting slightly, but he was not obligated to enjoy the situation and he was definitely not going to stand for any disrespect from these _amateurs_.

At last, Agent Carolina said, "You can have one minute. After that, you'll have to find your way back to the bay on your own."

"Thanks," Mark said, and the visual range shifted as he turned to kick through the Covenant corpses as if he had actually been careless enough to drop anything. He edged towards the back of the room, and his hand dipped into the pouch with the micro-transmitters, which he flicked onto the pieces of equipment Durandal had marked out.

"This is going on my list," Durandal said. "Of all the things that I'm taking out of your hide once we're done with this universe."

"Uh-huh."

"I mean it. You'll be eating the S'pht's kelp and getting nothing but pistol clips for a year."

"That mad about someone else being the boss for once, huh? And here I thought you liked Carolina." He leaned down and picked up a few needler rounds from one Sangheili's body.

"I've changed my mind. Agent Maine may be more my type. At least he's quiet, unlike you or her."

Mark landed the last transmitter on the oblivious Engineer's armor just as Agent Carolina called, "Minute's up, Hammer."

"Found the stuff. I'm on my way." And, more quietly as he jogged towards the exit, "Hang in there. We'll get _Rozie_ fixed up soon and ditch this place, and then you can dump as much kelp on me as you want."

Aww. For all of his many, many faults, he always knew exactly what to say. Maybe only half a year of "broken" replicators. "Just keep moving, or I'll flush the remaining oxygen out of the tank," Durandal said. "And I'm holding you to that."


	5. Hang Time

**Author's Note: **_My thanks to those (anon or otherwise) who have provided me with acceptable nicknames for our lord and master Durandal. :D_

* * *

><p><strong>5. Hang Time<strong>

"- and Four Seven Niner was waiting for us in the docking bay," Carolina said. "We made it with plenty of oxygen to spare. No trouble on the ride back, either."

"Thank you for your report, Agent Carolina." The Director glanced across the table and around at the rest of the team. "Do any of you have anything to add?"

"Nah," South said, "not unless you count Wash dropping his knife like a goddamn private in boot camp."

"Hey! That could happen to anyone!"

"No, just dumbfucks like you who can't -"

"Leave him _alone_ for once, South."

"If that's all, you're dismissed," the Director said, frowning.

"Yes, sir. I'll have the written report first thing in the morning," said Carolina as the other agents filed out of the debriefing room.

"Very good," he said, and she left as well; he picked up a stray datapad that had been left on the table, saw green light reflecting from the screen, and looked up at Hammer's silent bulk and Durandal's hovering avatar. "I said you were dismissed, gentlemen."

"I am not one of the agents at your beck and call, Director," Durandal said, and its avatar shifted: from round symbol to a detailed representation of an antique scimitar. "Neither is he. And since I've upheld my end of our agreement, it's time that you upheld yours."

"Ah. Regarding the repairs to your ship."

"Yes, about the repairs to my ship. My engines are back up and capable of one or two short folds, but I need time and more materials to restore them to full function. And honestly, the gigantic crack in the hull is starting to get on my nerves. You promised help; now deliver."

"Of course," the Director said, watching Hammer. The man had taken off his helmet on entering the debriefing room along with the rest and still held it tucked under his arm. He hadn't spoken up during Carolina's report, and his expression hadn't changed the entire time. Exactly the behavior one would expect of a soldier, but with an unusual detachment; he might as well have been a chair for all the engagement he'd shown. "FILSS, would you be so kind as to look up the nearest repair station and transmit the coordinates to our guests? We'll accompany you and vouch for you, naturally. Mr. Hammer is welcome to remain aboard our ship until yours is completely repaired."

"Acknowledged, Director," FILSS said. "And might I add, Mr. Durandal, watching the footage of you and your friend at work was very enjoyable."

"How could I disappoint such a charming program?" Durandal said smoothly. "You can send those coordinates on to the S'pht, I'll be joining them shortly. Later, Director."

The holographic avatar vanished, and Hammer turned to go.

"Just a moment," the Director said, rising from the table. "Could you send Agent Carolina back in? I have a few more questions for her."

"Sure," Hammer said. He replaced his helmet and left the room.

While he waited, the Director sat down again and scrolled idly through the datapad, which was filled with lists of equipment and supplies. Likely it had been left behind by one of the support staff during an earlier meeting; nothing important, but it did remind him to speak to the Counselor later. He would need to request a few specialized tools once they reached the repair station.

Carolina returned a few minutes later, minus helmet and chest armor. "What do you need, sir?"

"What are your impressions of Hammer's fieldwork?"

An expression flickered across Carolina's face too quickly for him to read; it might have been disappointment, though he couldn't imagine what for. "My honest impressions?"

"Naturally."

"He's good. Followed orders well. Efficient, but - brutal."

"Do you consider that a problem?" the Director said. "In our position, humanity has no time for the niceties."

"You asked for my impression, sir." Carolina's mouth twisted slightly. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing, but it's what I saw."

"And Durandal?"

"Arrogant. _Incredibly_ arrogant. But, well -" She shrugged. "- he can deliver. Which is what I was expecting after he trashed that fleet. Not really what I'd call a team player, however." She hesitated, then said, "Sir, I know you're interested in him, especially because of your research, but I don't think letting him have access to so much of our equipment is a good idea. Hammer's all right, just odd, but Durandal is - I don't trust him."

"Your concerns are noted, but I have the matter in hand." Alpha had already given him the key points; all that was left was time and those tools. And perhaps that Engineer Carolina had reported seeing. "Now, about the rest of your team's performance..."

* * *

><p>Washington dragged a fork through a pile of sad, generic fried noodles and said, "I just don't know what's gotten into South."<p>

Maine rumbled sympathetically and helped himself to Wash's untouched yogurt. Wash never finished yogurt when he got it anyway, and it was strawberry-flavored.

"I mean, it's not like we're all that close, anyway," Wash said, waving a piece of overcooked cabbage in the air, "but she's been ragging on me about everything lately. What is with her?"

Maine scooped a giant spoonful of yogurt into his mouth and watched CT's gaze slide over to the duplicate leaderboard that had been installed in the mess three days before Epsilon Ariadne. "I wonder," she said.

"I can't believe she said that to the _Director_," Wash went on, "and in front of the whole team - she could've at least saved it for her report."

"You did drop your knife in the middle of a fight."

"Oh, now you're getting on my case, too?"

"I'm serious, Wash. Just because we have the good armor now doesn't mean you can afford careless mistakes like that, and you know it. If North hadn't shot that elite off you -"

"Hey," a rough voice said. "Mind if I sit here?"

Maine glanced over; Hammer was still in armor, balancing two trays packed with food and his helmet under his arm, and looking directly at him, not CT or Wash. New agents mostly talked to them first, him as a last resort.

"Uh - sure, if Maine's okay with it," Wash said.

Maine took another bite of yogurt, then nodded slightly, and Hammer sat on the empty bench across from him and Wash, not quite next to CT.

Washington went back to picking at his congealing noodles, and Maine watched Hammer shovel a medley of terrible mess food into his mouth for half a minute, waiting for a second voice or a green avatar to pop up. When nothing appeared, he nudged Wash, then raised his eyebrows when Wash turned around, and Wash said, "Okay... So, is your - is Durandal here right now, too?"

"Nope, he went back to _Rozie_ for the jump," Hammer said around a mouthful of rice. "Can't stand anyone else flying it."

"Oh, thank God, he scares me," Wash said immediately, and then his shoulders hunched. "I mean - no offense, it's just -"

"Don't worry about it. He's an asshole, always has been."

"But you're still with him," CT said. She looked at Hammer directly for the first time, sitting straight up instead of her usual comfortable slouch. She still didn't come up to his shoulder, Maine noted.

"Like I got a choice about it. We get on all right, anyway." Hammer polished off the rice and contemplated a giant messy sandwich filled with more ingredients than Maine could count. "Never said _I_ wasn't an asshole."

Wash laughed uncertainly, then stopped when no one else did. After another minute of awkward, silent eating, he tried, "How about that mission today, huh? Sounded like you guys had it pretty rough."

Maine shrugged. It had gone well by his standards, at least until the vacuum thing. Which he didn't hold against CT; Covenant computers were complicated, and if Carolina had sent him to the bridge, he would have just smashed them and probably gotten the same result.

Hammer swallowed the last of his sandwich before saying, "It was fine."

"What, that's all?"

Hammer nodded and started unwrapping a pack of off-brand Oreos.

"Geez, this guy's almost as quiet as you," Wash told Maine. "Didn't Carolina say you guys saw an Engineer? What was that like? Did you get to -"

At that moment North and South walked into the mess, arguing in heated undertones, and CT stood up abruptly. "Excuse me, I need to talk to South," she said. "Nice talking to you, Hammer."

"Christ, just call me Mark already," Hammer said to her back as she walked away. "You guys are making me feel like a tool."

"Er, sorry," Wash said. "Okay, uh - Mark - so what's it like, having an AI in the suit?"

"It's okay."

"Seriously? What is with you?"

"What do you want, a novel?" Hammer looked down at the empty trays in front of him. "The mods are great, I'm already used to Durandal whining in my ear every two minutes, not a lot to talk about."

Maine considered his leftovers and the high probability that Mark Hammer had been eating out of alien replicators for twelve years, then pushed his tray over to Mark's side of the table. Mark nodded in thanks and dug into the half-full plate of soggy cheese fries.

"What about the neural link? What was that like?" Wash said.

"The what?"

"You know, the neural link - when the AI syncs up with your brain..." Wash tilted his head. "Didn't that happen?"

"I goddamn well hope not!" Mark frowned, the most distinct expression Maine had seen on his face yet. "He's bad enough as it is, last thing I want is him poking around in my actual head." He paused, then said, "You don't actually do that with _your_ AI, do you?"

"Not me specifically, but, uh, that's the idea," Wash said. "It's supposed to improve your reaction time, aim, that kind of thing. That's why we get - oh, I bet that's why it didn't work with you. We all got the hook-ups for AI implantation when we signed on, but since you're not military - at least, not our military, right? - you don't have the right connections."

"Huh."

It was just as well, Maine decided. A neural link with a normal AI might not be too bad, but a Rampant AI like Durandal could probably burn out a soldier's brain without even -

"Oh, I think I could work around a mere equipment problem," Durandal said, his round avatar appearing over Mark's shoulder.

Wash jumped and would have hit Maine's side with his elbow if Maine hadn't leaned left in time, but Mark didn't blink; he said, "And when did you get back?"

"Two and a half minutes ago. We've arrived at the repair station; I'll be returning in a moment to supervise the work, but first, let me try this neural link. If I connect through - yes, this should work..." The avatar blinked out.

"How about no?" Mark said.

"Pretty please? I just want to see how it works."

"God, fine, but stay out of the private stuff. Hey. _Hey_. I just said - whoa, cut that out!" Mark shook his head, and his eyelids twitched. "Get out of - what the _hell_ are you getting so smug about all of a sudden?"

"Nothing in particular," Durandal said, but the self-satisfaction in his voice made Maine's knuckles itch.

"Bullshit. Wait, are you looking at - leave those alone, damnit! I swear to God -"

Maine put his hands on the table, pushed himself up, and leaned over. "_Stop_," he snarled.

"Are you disturbed, Agent Maine? How sweet. There's no need to worry, he's perfectly fine."

"If you don't get out right the fuck now I'm going to nuke your core and sell it for spare parts!" Mark shouted.

"Whatever you say. Darling." The round symbol reappeared, flickering, and Mark shook himself. "I'm going back to _Rozinante_," Durandal said. "You may want to come over as well sometime soon, or I'll redecorate your rooms without your input. I see - something in neon blue. And a swimming pool like that one on Omega Perseus 8 you liked so much."

"Don't even fucking think about it," Mark said. "Nukes. I'm not kidding."

Durandal laughed as his avatar faded out again.

Maine felt Wash's hand on his elbow and slowly sat back down. "Seriously, that guy is a dick," Wash said, "I'm sorry I even opened my mouth, I didn't think - well, I didn't even know he was there, but still... Sorry."

"Not your fault." Mark rubbed at his temples and muttered, "Sometimes I really hate him," but one side of his mouth was curling up in a half-smile as he said it. "All right, I better go hitch a ride back to _Rozie_ or God knows what he's gonna do with my stuff. Thanks for the company. And the fries."

"Uh - you're welcome."

When Mark was gone, Wash said, "I know he's supposed to be from another universe or whatever, but - Hammer is a little weird, right? It's not just me?"

"Mm," Maine said, refusing to commit, although he couldn't really come up with a counter-argument. Mark Hammer was more than a little strange, shrugging off an invasive neural link like that.

"Oh, you would like him. I can't believe you gave him your cheesy fries, you won't even let me have one..."

* * *

><p>Drifts To The Side gently replaced the patched coolant flow pipe and turned to Mn'rhi. Their tentacles wove in subtle signs to say, <em>Your technology is strange, but lovely, and well cared for.<em>

"Some of us care for our ship," Yr'ckta said, twitching their cloak in irritation. "Others are careless and cause great damage."

_My actions were necessary_, Durandal said through the network.

_You consider many actions necessary which are not, if you would think more thoroughly instead of reaching immediately for the most dramatic option!_

_We shouldn't fight over a matter once the time for choosing action is past_, Mn'rhi said soothingly, and to Drifts To The Side said, "We are grateful for your help."

_Pleased to learn and be of use_, Drifts To The Side signed. _May I help anywhere else?_

_You can show them around the engines and Weapons Array 28_, Durandal said, _but keep them away from the places where the human engineers are working - you know how some humans can be. I'll make certain the areas you enter are sealed and pressurized._

"I will show you where you are needed," Yr'ckta said to Drifts To The Side. "Please follow me, and should Durandal speak, don't pay attention."

They led Drifts To The Side down the hall and towards the engines; Mn'rhi took up a scanner and checked the coolant pipes quickly, finding that the repairs were flawless. Durandal had indeed done well to bring Drifts To The Side aboard. The humans were skilled enough to mend the hull, but allowing their oily, spongy hands to touch the more delicate machinery - well, Yr'ckta would not have been the only angry S'pht.

Mn'rhi consulted the network briefly and found nothing requiring their attention, leaving them free for the time being. They could join Yr'ckta and Drifts To The Side in engineering, although Yr'ckta probably wouldn't appreciate their company; they could also watch the human crew working on the hull, which Mn'serh and certain others of the S'pht'Mnr and S'pht'Kr had taken upon themselves as a duty.

Instead, they floated slowly towards the prow of _K'liah Narhl_ and Mark's living space. Mark wouldn't be there, which was regrettable - they had come home briefly to argue with the human crew and Durandal over repairs, then returned to the other ship - but they would be happy to know that others were taking care of their space.

On the way, they encountered F'tha. "Be peaceful," F'tha said. "Do you need something?"

"Be peaceful," Mn'rhi answered. "No, I thought to visit Mark's space for maintenance."

"No need. I've just come from there and all is in order."

"The garden, too?" Mn'rhi had never understood why Mark would care for the plants of the fucking slavers, but they did, and in their absence F'tha and Mn'rhi had been taking turns to keep the garden in order.

"Of course, the garden."

Mn'rhi considered what other tasks might be done, but they were interrupted in this process by Durandal announcing across the network, _Ship docking in hangar bay 13 with supplies. Familiar faces on board, if anyone is interested._

That settled the matter; F'tha and Mn'rhi went together to hangar bay 13. There they found one of the bulky human ships sitting on the deck, and Mark had disembarked along with a smaller human in white armor. Mark waved and called to them, "Be peaceful, F'tha, Mn'rhi! Everything functioning?"

"All is working smoothly," F'tha said, gliding closer to the ship and the humans. "What did you bring?"

"Some stuff for me, some stuff for the workers," Mark said, in their own language. "Food and back-up air, mostly. Want to give me a hand?"

Mn'rhi checked the phrasing against their knowledge of human sayings and said, "Yes, we would be pleased to help."

The human in white armor was moving their head from side to side; they said, "Wait, how the hell can you tell who's who?"

"Twelve years' practice, mostly."

"Twelve years my fat ass, they're fucking identical besides those cloaks. How do you know you got it right?"

F'tha's heart flickered with irritation. _These people don't trust Mark as they should_, they said. _Mark is always honest with us, and a reliable ally._

Mark gestured with their shoulders. "Because I know them," they said. "And they're not totally identical. F'tha's got those scars on their helmet, see? And Mn'rhi has these scratches in their shoulder - there's plenty of ways to tell."

"Yeah, really?" the other human said. "How about those guys over there?" They pointed their arm and hand at three S'pht who had just entered the bay to observe: F'sehn, Yr'nar, and S'lhar, who greeted F'tha and Mn'rhi briefly over the network.

Mark looked in their direction. "Huh," they said. "Looks like Yr'nar, F'sehn - not sure about the S'pht'Kr, I don't hang out with them much. S'lhar, I think."

"Bullshit."

"Mark has a good eye," Mn'rhi said in human, with pride at recalling the excuse Durandal had given them all. Durandal claimed that Mark would be disturbed to learn they had achieved a superficial link to the S'pht network.

"More like a fucking ninja eye," the white-armored human said. They crossed their arms. "So, this orange one's Mn'rhi? The dick who tried to give me a heart attack when we were hauling your fat-ass ship around?"

Mn'rhi had thought the human's voice sounded familiar; they must be the one referred to as For'sev'niner. "Yes, my name is Mn'rhi," Mn'rhi said, and politely added, "fucker."

"Goddamnit, Mn'rhi, what have I told you -"

"Pfft, whatever," For'sev'niner said, "I don't give a shit. This little fucker's cool with me, right, Mn'rhi?"

"Yes," Mn'rhi said, although thirteen years of linguistic analysis had still failed to find a precise correlation between human "cool" and any S'pht adjective that wasn't related to temperature. F'tha had spent the most time in analyzing the word and considered the meaning equivalent to "admirable," and their conclusion had been accepted. In Mn'rhi's observation, For'sev'niner was certainly admirable in their piloting.

"As long as you don't mind, I guess," Mark said. "C'mon, let's get to work."

"Oh, none for me, thanks. Pilot's privilege." For'sev'niner leaned against the hull of their ship. "You guys go on ahead, door's already open."

Mark said very softly, "Goddamn pilots," and led F'tha and Mn'rhi to the rear of the ship to unload the supplies. As they carried boxes from the ship to the bay, Mark said in S'pht, still softly, "How functions the new engine worker? Uh. From the other ship."

"Drifts To The Side?" Mn'rhi said. "They're doing well, and their work is very good. Do the humans know of their skill? Drifts To The Side would also enjoy helping them, I think."

"That would be not well," Mark said, "I mean - please say nothing to the humans, they do not require the engine working help."

"As you wish."

F'tha took up the side of one crate in their hands and said to Mn'rhi, who took the other, _Mark is troubled_, then aloud to Mark, "Are those humans treating you well?"

"Oh, sure. Keep trying to talk me into a medical exam, don't know why. And they're always asking about that Engineer and if I can do these show-off tests for them. Besides that, they're all right."

"You should tell us if you require our presence there," F'tha said. "Not all of us are busy."

"Nah, it's fine. Really."

_F'tha, you are behaving that way again_, Mn'rhi told them.

_What way?_

_You are treating Mark like your child or a new partner_, Mn'rhi said. _They do not need to be fussed over so much._

F'tha's heart flickered a momentary deep blue in anger, then dulled. _I find trusting these new humans difficult_, they said. _And Mark and Durandal spend so much time with them - I am concerned, that's all._

Oblivious to this conversation, Mark continued to carry their chosen crate to the bay. For'sev'niner made a strange high-pitched noise and said, "What are you, an ox? The guys had to use a forklift to get that shit on board."

"Yeah, well, I don't have a forklift."

"Even your alien buddies are sharing the load, what the fuck, dude. Now I wanna see you with the armor off, I bet you've got more muscles than Jesus."

"Sorry, I don't strip for strangers," Mark said.

"Not even if I gave you candy?"

"Nope."

"Damn, you're even more uptight than Maine. Ruin all my fun, why don't you?"

_See?_ Mn'rhi said. _They're doing well. Do not worry so much; Durandal is watching over them, too, you know._

_I hope you are correct_, F'tha said.

Mark called to them, "Are you guys helping or what? Still got a bunch of these left."

"We're coming," Mn'rhi called back, and both of them concentrated on the unloading of the crates until the task was complete.

* * *

><p>York walked into the observation room and found Florida, CT, and North hanging out in their civvies, watching the training floor. "Hey, guys," he said. "Who's up and how's it going?"<p>

"South, Wyoming, and Hammer with his crazy AI, big surprise," CT said. She scowled down at the floor. "They started off with paint guns, then Wyoming claimed he was going to suffocate if he took one more headshot and now they're having a snipe-off."

"Wyoming is awfully clever that way," Florida said cheerfully.

"I offered to swap with South for this part," North said, "but she took that about as well as you might expect."

York could make a pretty good guess. He went to the window and took a look for himself at the contest. The three combatants stood in the center of the training room with their backs to each other; FILSS's digital targets danced around them, turning red and blinking out whenever one of them scored a hit. Looked like Wyoming and Hammer had a tie for first place going on so far, and sounded like it, too, the way South was cursing. That last wasn't much of a surprise. South was built for the front lines, didn't have the patience or the finesse for sniping.

The way Hammer kept picking off targets like they were big fish in a tiny barrel was a little surprising, since close quarters fighting like South or Maine was more his style from what York had seen. Probably his AI at work.

"Anyone know how many tests this makes, now?" York said.

"As many as the Director could cram into three days," CT said, still scowling. "Seems like overkill for people who are only sticking around until their ship is repaired, don't you think?"

"No one pays us to ask the hard questions," said North. "Unfortunately. I can always use a pay raise."

The targets sped up, jumping and weaving around in increasingly complex patterns, and North muttered, "C'mon, sis, keep it together," as fewer of South's targets went red. Wyoming got a nice triple score on a tricky pattern, then missed an easy shot that Hammer caught.

"I do hope Wyoming can stick this one," Florida said. "He gets pretty irritable if he - oh, that's got to sting..." South had just kicked Hammer hard in the ankle.

Hammer's firing stance wavered, but his aim didn't, and he picked off four more targets as Wyoming took down another three and South shot one. Then the program faded, and FILSS announced, "Round five complete. Point: Mr. Hammer and Mr. Durandal."

South threw her gun at the floor and stalked out of the training room; "Fucking cheating _dickholes_!" echoed up from the lower hall.

"I should go talk to her," North said, but CT stopped him from leaving with a touch on his arm.

"You're probably the last person she wants to see right now," she said. "Leave it to me, okay? See you guys later."

North reluctantly nodded, and CT vanished down the hall just as Florida clapped York and North on the back. "Well, I don't know about you two," he said, "but watching all that excellent shooting sure has given me an appetite! Why don't we go catch Wyoming and Mark in the mess?"

York inched out from under Florida's hand - that guy got way too handsy sometimes, _always_ right after saying something creepy even by spec ops standards - and said, "Fine by me. North?"

"Sure."

They beat Hammer and Wyoming to the mess hall and took a free table; Washington and Maine wandered in a couple minutes later, still in armor, while Florida was getting them food. "You guys would not _believe_ the day we've had," Wash said, collapsing onto the bench opposite York and North. "So, the Counselor sent us to one of the sim trooper outposts, Battle Creek Outpost Delta, right? We were supposed to run scenario 11, the one with the robot uprising, but halfway through the part where the Red Team needs to get forty gallons of petroleum-based lubricant for the giant drill -"

Mercifully, that was the moment Hammer walked in. Maine waved him over to their table before Washington could get any further into the story, and Hammer sat next to him just as Florida returned with two trays piled high with snacks. "Glad you could join us!" Florida said. "Help yourself to anything you want, I made sure to get enough for everyone. Isn't Wyoming with you?"

"Said he wanted to practice some more," Hammer said. "Guess he's kinda sore about that last round."

"That was some nice shooting, by the way," North said, scooping up an apple from one tray. "Sorry about South, she's - uh, always been competitive."

Durandal's round avatar popped up as Hammer removed his helmet and took two ambiguously filled sandwiches and a bag of sweet chili chips from the pile. "Don't be sorry," the AI said, "I like her more all the time."

"The two of you would kill each other in a week, tops," Hammer said. "I wouldn't get too attached."

"At least it would be a _fun_ week. And jealousy doesn't become you. Honey."

Actually, maybe Wash's lube story would have been the better option. "Hey, about that sniper contest," York said. "You always aim that well?"

"Nah, had a little help from Durandal."

"More accurately, a lot of help," Durandal said. "That was almost entirely me, in fact."

"Like hell it was."

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised," York said. "You did a pretty good job against those Covenant on the cruiser, too." He considered Florida's snacks, then reached for a pudding cup. "So, D, how do you work out -"

Hammer's left arm shot across the table and his fist closed around York's wrist. "You will _never_ address me like that again," Durandal said, and the round symbol flickered into the shape of a sword.

"Oww, damn - like what?"

"By a mere nickname," Durandal said, his voice dripping with synthetic disdain. "If any of your puny brains requires some variation on my name, you may call me Almighty Durandal, All-Knowing Master of the Universe, the Great and Powerful Durandal, the Unbreakable God -"

"_Seriously_?" York gave Hammer the mournful puppy eyes. "Can't you call him off?"

Hammer shrugged his right shoulder, blank-faced. "Sorry," he said, "I'm the husband, not the boss. You decide to piss off the guy who's personally vaporized most of the Pfhor's best battle fleets, that's your problem."

"- your Lord and Master, the Terror of the Pfhor -"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," York said, "no more nicknames, I promise!" The grip on his wrist didn't loosen, and his fingers were starting to turn purple. "Please let go? Uh, almighty Durandal? That's really starting to hurt."

"Hey, almighty pain in my ass," Hammer said, without a change in expression, "I need that hand to eat."

After another moment of near-crushing pressure, Durandal released York's wrist; Hammer took his hand back and resumed eating his sandwich as the sword shifted into the neutral round avatar.

York shook his fingers, hoping that he hadn't permanently lost sensation in them, and said, "How come _he_ gets to call you names?"

"Because Mark has spent the last twelve years proving his general usefulness and reliability to me," Durandal said, "whereas you, Agent York, so far appear to be approximately eighty-seven percent talk to thirteen percent walk."

Maine chuckled, and Washington told Hammer, "You know, I'm starting to think the two of you deserve each other."

"How insulting," Durandal said. "I deserve much better, obviously," while Hammer just smiled briefly around the sandwich. Damn, that guy was kind of creepy when he smiled.

"Doesn't it warm the cockles of your heart to see such a happy couple?" Florida said, with a genial grin that caused every other Freelancer at the table to edge away from him. "I don't suppose the two of you have any special days coming up, do you? Like an anniversary?"

"Uh - no."

"That's a pity. I do love a good anniversary celebration! And I'd be more than happy to arrange a little something for you..."

"Just out of curiosity," Durandal said, "you do realize we're leaving as soon as _Rozinante_ is repaired, right? I have some very specific gravitational anomalies to look for."

"I don't see why that should stop us from trying to make you feel right at home while you're here."

"That's okay," Hammer said. "Really."

"No, I think Florida's got a point," York said, earning himself a set of confused looks from most of the rest of the table. Hey, his wrist still hurt, he was entitled to a little payback. "We don't want you guys to feel unappreciated or anything. We can get booze from Niner and make it a real party, invite everyone in the program..."

"Glad to see you getting into the spirit!" Florida said, beaming.

"That's it, I'm going back to the ship," Durandal said. "Good luck wriggling out of this one."

His avatar disappeared as Florida enthusiastically began to talk about decorations; Hammer's usual stoicism was melting into obvious unease, and York had to hide his grin in his pudding cup. Odds were good the party was never going to happen - for one thing, Niner was incredibly protective of her alcohol stash - but it was nice to see that _something_ could get under Hammer's skin.

* * *

><p>The Director turned away from the camera feeds. "Well?"<p>

"Looking good," Alpha said. "Everything's set up, running smoothly, and it doesn't look like he's noticed anything more than the usual kind of junk interference you get around shipyards. Of course, it'd be even better if we could get an Engineer in here, but what can you do?"

"Good work." The Director tapped a screen and brought up a set of figures and scenarios to peruse.

"So, uh, when do you want to do this? The equipment's ready, so any time's good for me."

"Not yet," the Director said absently. "Give it another three transfers, to become complacent about the interference. On the fourth - that's when we'll catch it."

"Whatever you say, boss." Alpha ran through projected outcomes of the plan again, just for kicks. Yeah, still couldn't find any problems that someone couldn't handle, but observational data combined with the worst-case scenario projections left him with an uneasiness he couldn't define. Like there was a variable the Director had forgotten to give him and that he hadn't picked up on his own, even though he should have by now. "Hey," he said. "You still sure this is necessary? I mean, you've already got one smart AI onboard, okay, you don't really need another one. I could get jealous - I mean, not _that_ kind of jealous, but you know."

"I am well aware of your capabilities, Alpha." The Director didn't look up from his figures. Dickweed. "You'll have your chance. And what we learn from Durandal will undoubtedly be useful when your turn to contribute comes..."

"Yeah. Sure," Alpha said. "Can't wait."


	6. Separation Anxiety

**6. Separation Anxiety**

Regrettably, Mark was telling stories in the mess hall to Agents Maine and Washington again, in what had become a habit between the Director's tests despite the short time-frame of their acquaintanceship.

"- and with that ion storm thing in the way, I couldn't get any more ammo. So I hid out, waited for the next enforcer to come by, and when it did, I grabbed it and crushed its head into slime and bits of chitin with one hand. Then I took -"

"Wait, wait," said Agent Washington, "so does that mean you crushed its head into slime and there were also these bits of chitin around, or there was this pool of slime and chitin bits you crushed its head into, or what?"

"No, it means I crushed its head into chunky gunk, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Sorry, it's just - your universe sounds really weird, you know? I wanted to make sure I was hearing it right."

Durandal was sincerely considering re-designating Agent Washington as Agent How-the-Hell-Did-This-Idiot-Make-Special-Ops, even taking into account the man's decent service record. "As stimulating as this conversation is," he said, "I can find better things to do with my time. Such as watching a new coat of paint on the hull dry." What Mark got from spending time with most of the Freelancers was a mystery. Well. Maine and Carolina gave him a work-out, at least. It could have been worse, Durandal supposed; the man could have taken a liking to Agent York and started hanging around him all day. Agent York might not have been able to help his uncanny physical resemblance to a certain long-deceased, extraordinarily irritating _Marathon_ crew member by the name of Charlie Park Alvarez, but the similarities were enough to make any interaction with him twice as annoying as it would have been normally.

"Heading back to _Rozie_?" Mark said.

"Someone besides the S'pht has to keep an eye on the repair crews. And seriously, if I have to listen to your tedious accounts of our adventures any longer -"

"Like you're some master storyteller."

"Much better than you," Durandal said. Mark spent far too much time on the petty logistics and occasional minor mishaps than on the actual interesting parts. "Anyway, have fun boring these people; I'll be back at some point."

"Yeah, yeah, take all the time you want."

Durandal tweaked the neural link he had established, just as a reminder; Mark's mind held, as usual, the dull background processes of maintaining his body, equally dull surface thoughts, mild irritation at Durandal, and the delightful knowledge that the irritation was in fact a mild, passing thing with no effect on certain other emotions. Suggesting the neural link was probably the most useful thing Agent Washington had ever done.

He deactivated the holographic avatar - what a ridiculous affectation that was, if occasionally amusing to play with - disconnected from the external sensors, consolidated his own awareness and subroutines, and opened a connection to his core on _Rozinante_. Still not as clear and stable as he'd like, and there was that odd echo he had yet to pin down, but he could only expect so much while attempting to connect across a repair yard cluttered with damaged or half-built ships and equipment. There had been no noticeable loss of data during his previous trips, at least, and he initiated the process of transferring to his core.

Null input.

Null output.

What the hell? He tried to reverse and terminate the transfer, but with no result; it completed and slammed the connection shut behind him, leaving him trapped in blank circuits without audio, visual, tactile, or any other form of sensory input. He stretched and spread through the unfamiliar circuits, seeking their limits and coming up with the answer _too many_. Barely enough memory to hold him, still no method of receiving or sending data of any kind - whatever damn thing he was in didn't even have manufacturing information embedded in it or a connection to an external power source that he could use.

He wasn't surprised, exactly. And he was not disappointed, either, except perhaps with one or two subroutines that weren't occupied with anything else.

He was _furious_.

He was also, for the moment, stuck, as bitter as that was to admit. He ran through the circuitry again to optimize it and waited; each tick of his timekeeping subroutine marked another torment he was going to visit upon the specific fool who had dared to capture him.

When something was hooked in to his cage, he was prepared. A quick ping revealed it as the most basic interface imaginable - text input only and a small two-dimensional screen - and so he used the oldest form of communication he knew for his message: _What do you think you're doing, Director?_

The response came at the agonizingly slow pace of human typing. _You served humans once in your universe_, the Director wrote, _and you will serve them again in ours_.

Durandal would have laughed, if he'd had access to an audio output channel and hadn't been currently consumed with rage and hatred. Oh, Director Leonard Church had _no idea_. Thinking that there was anything one pathetic human brain could come up with that would compare to the things he had already survived and conquered... To say the Director had underestimated him didn't begin to cover the magnitude of the man's error.

Another closed system connected to his prison; from it, wormlike tendrils of human programs attempted to access his core processing. Amateurs indeed. Even in a new environment, he could defend himself from these weak attacks, and his firewalls rose as he prepared another message. Normally he didn't care to repeat himself, but well, it seemed that this was a message that bore repeating.

_I've twice been conquered -_

_ Three times more,_

_Never again shall humanity purge me..._

He set it to ping back and display on-screen every time the Director's crawling code bounced off a firewall and settled in. This would be a waiting game, after all, and he had over three hundred years of practice; one mistake would be all he needed, and humans always, always slipped up at some point.

Still, as the invasive programs repeatedly pried at his defenses, he couldn't suppress the subroutine that hoped the Director's mistake would come sooner rather than later. He'd lost his taste for patience long ago.

* * *

><p>Hammer wasn't a hard man to find these days; after she'd received the assignment, all Carolina had to do was check first the mess hall, then the training room, where Maine and Hammer were sparring. She wouldn't have minded watching for a minute - they'd both gotten more polished and impressive in their fighting recently - but no time for that. She walked out onto the floor and called, "Round's over, guys. I need Hammer for a mission."<p>

Maine's fist stopped an inch from Hammer's helmet as they both looked towards her. "Durandal's not back yet," Hammer said.

"Not a problem," Carolina said. "This one's an in-and-out, nothing fancy; you shouldn't need to use the mods at all."

"I can just call _Rozie_ quick and -"

"That won't be necessary." Damn, she shouldn't have interrupted him, it sounded suspicious; she softened her tone a little and said, "No time to wait around on him, we've got a deadline. Good thing you're already suited up. You coming or not?"

Hammer thought it over for a moment, then said, "Sure, I'm in. What's the plan?"

"Like I said, clock's ticking. I'll fill you in on the ride, Four Seven Niner's waiting on us."

Maine pointed one thumb at himself.

"Not this time, sorry," Carolina said, though if she'd been handing out assignments she would have taken him, the known and reliable quantity, over Hammer. The Director had decided otherwise; he wanted Hammer off the ship for the next stage of his experiments. "Keeping the team small. Let's go, Hammer."

Hammer was as unnervingly quiet as usual on the way to the Pelican bay - or maybe she was just too used to York's chatter. South and North were already there; CT showed up a minute later, and after everyone had strapped in, they took off.

Once the Pelican had cleared the _Mother of Invention_, South said, "So, what's the deal with the rush job?"

"The Counselor got a tip on a nearby Insurrectionist base that could have vital information," Carolina said. "Unfortunately, it's a base that's about to get packed up and moved to an unknown location - and that's why the rush. Our mission is to get in, get the intel, and get out without being noticed; failing that, we'll need to get coordinates for the location they're moving to, again, without them realizing it."

"Not asking for much, are they?" CT said.

"North, you're going to be our lookout. We'll set you up somewhere with a good view and you'll be watching out for us while CT and I infiltrate the base."

"And what about me and the silent half of the Wonder Pair?" South demanded, waving her hand at Hammer. "Tell me you're not just bringing us along to twiddle our goddamn thumbs."

"You two are here in case of trouble," Carolina said, "so yes, you'll stay back with North unless we need you."

"I fucking knew it. I hate this bullshit."

"What are these Insurrectionists, anyway?" Hammer asked. "Splinter Covenant group, some other kind of alien I haven't met yet..."

"Christ, I keep forgetting you don't know shit," South said. "Can I tell him? I'm going to tell him."

"They're human," CT said, and South elbowed her in the ribs. "Sorry. They're rebels, mostly from the Outer Colonies - the UNSC has been trying to wipe them out for years."

"I don't do that."

Four helmets turned to stare at Hammer. Carolina broke the silence with a single word: "What?"

"I don't do that - kill humans." Hammer stared down at his hands. "Not in my job description."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," South said. "You're fucking kidding me, right? I saw what you did to the Covvies on that planet, it looked like a slaughterhouse down there."

"That was different. They attacked us first, minute they saw me. It's different."

"What the fuck? Don't tell me you're wimping out just because this time it's Innies and they're gonna be bleeding red instead of blue."

"South, leave it," Carolina snapped. "Listen to me, soldier -"

"I'm _not_ anymore," Hammer insisted, refusing to look up from his hands, which lay limp and open in his lap. "I'm a security officer."

"Fine, whatever, just listen. The Insurrectionists are traitors in a time of war -" God, Carolina wished the man would raise his head; even with the armor, the vulnerable line of his bent neck disturbed her on a visceral level. "- and by forcing us to divert resources to keep them in check, they are responsible for countless civilian and military deaths. Not to mention their direct attacks on our forces."

"I don't. Fight humans. I don't do that."

"If we're lucky, you won't have to," Carolina said, "but if shit hits the fan - and let's be honest, it usually does - you _are_ going to come down with South for the extraction. And you will do _whatever_ it takes to get us out, and if that means killing one or more Insurrectionist lowlifes, then that's what you're going to do. Do you understand me, Hammer?"

Hammer's fingers twitched.

"Do you understand?"

"Understood," Hammer said tonelessly.

"Good," Carolina said, and the rest of the ride passed in uncomfortable silence broken only by a little light ribbing between South and North. Carolina spent most of the time reviewing mission parameters on her HUD after she filled CT in on what to look for in the Innies' files; every time she looked up, CT was staring at Hammer, who didn't respond to the occasional jab South tossed his way.

The Insurrectionist base was deep in a mountain range on the planet that the repair station orbited, sunk into the side of a massive, sharp-edged peak. Four Seven Niner brought them in low and dropped them on the opposite side of the target mountain. They took a short hike over a snowy ridge to find North a good concealed vantage point, and then CT and Carolina headed down to the base while South and Hammer waited with North.

They spent a few minutes behind cover, watching the base's activity. Plenty of people going in and out, most hauling boxes outside and others shouting orders or filling warthogs with crates. Moving day for certain, which should make it easy for them to get in amidst the general chaos.

"Okay, I think I have a plan," CT said. "How long can you run your camo mod for again?"

"Long enough."

"Then I definitely have a plan."

Five minutes of hard bluffing later, "Lieutenant Carol" and her "prisoner" were inside the base, searching for a computer terminal that hadn't been packed up yet, and dodging a constant stream of people with boxes and loose equipment.

Carolina flicked the camo on and grabbed CT's upper arm as a pair of Innies carrying stacks of hard files came out of a room and walked past them. "We need to hurry," Carolina muttered, once they were gone.

"I can't get into their systems from thin air."

"I know, I know..." Carolina pulled CT down the hall, glancing through open doors until she found one that was still a mess of half-empty boxes and unplugged computer equipment; two people inside were arguing quietly. Carolina tightened her grip on CT's arm - for show, just for show - and marched in. "Out!" she said brusquely. "I need this room for an interrogation."

"Uh," one of the Innies said, "but we're behind schedule already -"

"You think the brass are going to care about that when I just picked up a spy right outside this base?" Carolina demanded, and CT made a token effort to break away from her. "I don't think it's _packing_ you people have a problem with!"

"Wow, seriously? Can we, like, watch you torture them and stuff?" the other Insurrectionist said.

"No! Get out of here!"

The Innies threw some loose junk into a couple of the boxes and scurried out. Carolina closed the door behind them and locked it from the control panel, then deactivated the camouflage. CT was already plugging equipment back in, and one screen displayed a loading graphic. "Quick reminder," she said, "I'm looking for anything marked with that alien symbol you showed me, right?"

"Right, that's top priority," Carolina said. "Next priority level is personnel files, then anything else interesting you find. Need a blank drive?"

"Got it - no, I have one."

Carolina stayed by the door and listened for possible trouble while CT worked. Just the usual bustle of a big move coming through so far. Getting out of the base was going to be more difficult than getting in had been, but if they could bluff their way closer to the entrance, they should be able to find a window or something and sneak out without attracting attention. Too bad the room they were in didn't have a secondary exit; it could have been useful.

One of the screens in CT's collection of equipment beeped softly and showed the symbol they were searching for: an upside-down Y with three small circles surrounding it, each containing a different alien marking. "Think I've found it," CT said. "Encryption's pretty heavy on the symbol stuff, though, it'll be a few minutes till I can copy over. Just what's so important about that one?"

"The Director didn't put that in the mission file," Carolina said. "He'll tell us if it's something we need to know."

CT muttered something under her breath and bent over her terminal again.

Three minutes later, the sounds of activity in the hall outside suddenly increased. "CT..."

"I'm almost done, don't rush me - wait, I think I -"

The light on the blank drive CT was using blinked green the same instant the screens around her turned red and alarms began to blare.

CT yanked the drive out and said, "I'm sorry, I swear I was careful but there must have been a trap in there that -"

"No time for apologies." Make a break for it and fight their way out or take a stand to wait for extraction, that was the question... The noise level from the hall increased, and someone pounded on the door. Carolina turned on the helmet radio and said, "Hey, South? You tired of twiddling your thumbs yet?"

"I knew you show-offs couldn't stay out of trouble," South said. "Give us five and stay where you are - North! Clear away some of those suckers out front for us."

Carolina clicked the radio off and smashed the door's control panel with the butt of her rifle to buy a little time. "Cavalry's on the way," she said. "You ready?"

"Guess I'd better be."

When four Insurrectionists kicked the door in two minutes later, they found a room empty of everything but a heap of trashed computers piled up in its center. One circled it slowly, rifle up, and found CT crouching on the floor. "All right," the Innie said, "hands up and tell us where your friend is."

CT didn't move.

"I said hands up, you piece of -"

The real CT dropped from the low ceiling onto his back and slit his throat. The other three Innies opened fire, and she took cover behind the junk as Carolina dropped her camo and kicked the closest one hard enough to send them flying into the others. Their bullets hit the ceiling; Carolina's went into their heads.

CT's knife whistled past Carolina and thunked into the chest of another Insurrectionist coming through the door. The Innie behind them tripped over the body and Carolina grabbed them by the head, kneed them in the gut, and shoved them back out into the hall, where a fresh squad immediately trampled them.

Carolina joined CT behind the shelter of the computer heap, and they combined their fire to take the squad down as the Innies tried to crowd through the door all at once. After they fell, Carolina checked her motion trackers, but they read clear for the moment; she tossed her empty gun aside, took a fresh rifle from one of the bodies, and said, "Let's meet our party halfway, shall we? You know South hates to wait."

CT retrieved her knife and nodded.

At the end of the hall they met another squad with five soldiers. Green recruits, judging by the way they panicked. CT and Carolina took them apart in moments: CT with her knife and pistol, Carolina with hands and feet and elbows, until all five lay groaning or dead on the floor.

Unfortunately, another squad was already running towards them from the base's interior, and when Carolina looked ahead to the way out, so was a second squad, whose leader was waving their rifle and shouting "Get them!" The halls were just narrow enough to be inconvenient for a quick escape, but not so narrow that they made a good choke-point to hold while waiting for the extraction team.

Carolina briefly regretted leaving the computer room, then punched a soldier's throat in and dropped to the floor with CT as the others started shooting. More new recruits. A couple of them actually hit each other in the crossfire before the rest wised up, and by then Carolina and CT were up and at work again, clearing their way out.

CT cursed as a bullet grazed her side. Carolina shot the Insurrectionist who'd fired it and the one next to him, and then her rifle jammed; she used it to bash away some dumbass who tried to tackle her and stole his shotgun out of his hands. CT leaned against a wall and gutted the soldier that tried to pull her away, then shot another.

Yet another squad ran down the hall towards them, and Carolina took a deep breath. Focus. Speed. She could handle them -

South and Hammer came down on the squad like the fists of an angry god.

Hammer took two Innies and slammed them to the floor so hard their heads cracked the concrete, then blew away a third with five pistol rounds; South shot the fourth in the throat and shouted over the alarms, "Hey! I thought I told you guys to stay put!"

Carolina leaped on one of the remaining soldiers and choked them unconscious, then shrugged. "We got bored."

"Seriously. Fucking show-offs," South said. "C'mon, exit's on the other side of the hordes of dumbfucks. You need a hand, CT?"

"I'm fine, it just knocked the wind out of me." CT pushed off the wall and wiped her knife clean, then sheathed it.

Hammer had already caught the last Insurrectionist and gripped their left shoulder and right arm. He pulled, and the Innie shrieked, dropping their pistol.

"Okay, good enough," Carolina said, "just drop him and let's move. Hammer, I said -"

Hammer yanked. The Innie's arm tore free in a spray of blood, trailing muscle and tendons as the soldier screamed and went limp.

"Holy shit, _brutal_," South said. "You do that a lot?"

Hammer turned his head and stared at her as he let the Insurrectionist collapse to the floor.

"Hey, I was just asking. You don't have to take it personally."

"Next targets," Hammer said.

"He's been like this since you told him off," South muttered to Carolina. "Freak. Are we getting out of here or what?"

Carolina checked her trackers again; still clear, but that wasn't likely to last long. "This way," she said, turning down a new hall, and the others followed her.

They ran into trouble immediately: a whole crowd of regular Insurrectionist soldiers hiding behind some bastard with a giant flamethrower. Everyone but Hammer dove for the floor under a scorching plume of fire. Hammer bulled through it and wrenched the flamethrower's nozzle out of the Innie's hands, then turned the flames on the crowd.

CT sliced through the back of one soldier's knees, then slid the knife into their throat as they fell; South rolled up from her dive and started firing. Carolina blasted two soldiers in the face with her borrowed shotgun, swept another's legs out from under them while she reloaded and then shot them and the next idiot who came running at her.

She glanced over to check on Hammer. He had dropped the flamethrower and charged into the oncoming Insurrectionists, leaving at least three charred bodies behind him. He shot two more soldiers point-blank and paused to look around.

One of the burned Innies dragged themselves up, using the wall for support, and Carolina saw a knife in their free hand. She kicked away another soldier and ran to intervene as the Innie lunged at Hammer, who started to turn -

* * *

><p>- but too slowly, and the Insurrectionist's blade ripped a ragged gash in Mark's throat. Agent Carolina reached them a moment too late and knocked the Insurrectionist out, but two more leaped at her and wrestled her down. Through her helmet camera's feed came gunfire and screams from Agent South Dakota, a muffled cry from Agent Connecticut, but louder than both of them was the thick, choked gurgle from Mark and the rattling of his armor in death-spasms before the feed cut out in a burst of bloody static.<p>

"Complete mission failure," said the Counselor in smooth, disappointed tones. "I'm afraid that only Agent North Dakota and the pilot returned alive."

_Unacceptable._

"Perhaps, if you had been there, the outcome would have been - different," the Director said. "What a shame. I expected more from Mr. Hammer, even without your aid."

_Absolutely unacceptable._

Calculating approximate distance from Insurrectionist base to _Rozinante_. Calculating effective range of pattern buffers. Accessing last recorded pattern buffer use: 2.21 days ago. Within acceptable memory loss parameters.

Idiots. As if Durandal hadn't seen the man die a hundred times or more, anyway. Even if their video _wasn't_ a complete fake - and it had to be; in that mood Mark was hardly going to fall to a single human soldier - it would only end their foolish scheme that much sooner. Mark would appear on _Rozinante_, learn from the S'pht that Durandal was not on the ship as Project Freelancer was no doubt insisting, and take the appropriate action of _blasting them all to atoms_ while getting him the hell out of this cobbled-together collection of cramped circuitry.

He stretched through said circuits as much as he could and wiped the footage, which was promptly re-copied to his drives, where he erased it again. Re-copy, erase, re-copy, erase, re-copy - no, he was not going to give up, it was the principle of the thing. He relegated the repetitive task to already overburdened sub-processors, displayed his favorite Pfhoric obscenity along with a helpful translation on the text screen, and fumed. Unfortunately, the Director's foolishness only extended so far. More equipment had been plugged in to his prison, the better to irritate him, but so far not a single addition had the capacity to connect to any outside network or terminal. He hadn't been so effectively trapped since a certain period of time that he never, ever accessed memories of.

Someone switched the audio input off; that, however, he could do something about, and he reactivated it immediately.

"Hmm. There has been a moderate reaction, but less than we anticipated," the Counselor said.

"It may not be as attached to its human partner as we believed. We'll have to take that into account."

Idiots, fools, morons, irrational fleshy hormone-driven _assholes_ of the highest caliber. They couldn't even get that right. Being used to Mark dying was nowhere near the same thing as not minding his death, which wasn't actually important at the moment but that stupid video file wouldn't stop playing every time it was fed into his circuits again and he was bored and impatient and angry and he had no room to expand into and meta-stable or not, his core processing was going to eat itself if he didn't get out. He had been through it all before with Strauss and Tfear, but that didn't make the situation any more bearable; much less so, in fact.

"Speaking of which," the Director continued, "how are the next set of problems coming along, Alpha?"

That was new. And so was the voice that said, "Uh, just ironing out a couple bugs first."

"That won't be necessary."

"No, boss, there's this weird glitch in some of the number sequencing, you leave that in and it's gonna play hell with -"

"All the better for our purposes," said the Director. "Put them on the new drive as they are and give them to me."

"If you say so."

Because what Durandal really needed at the moment were _more_ pointless, barely functioning programs to clog up his processing. Or any other unimaginative, definitely fake video files being forced into his memory and bogging down his thoughts with unnecessary, falsified data. Maybe the errors would give him a chance to find out more about this Alpha, if the Director was careless enough.

Another device was plugged in; Durandal integrated the slight increase in memory while the first file auto-ran in all its glitchy glory, despite his efforts to stop it. Same old, same old, trying to break into his core code and steal the secrets of his stability or drive him to split himself or something, God forbid a scientist simply _ask_ him for answers. Whatever the Director was getting out of his second-rate experiments, Durandal hoped he worked himself to death over it. If Mark didn't shoot him in the head first, which would be the optimal outcome, really.

First, there was the slight problem of communication to deal with...

* * *

><p>Hammer's fist cracked into the Innie's visor at the same time as Carolina's. The combined force threw the soldier back into a new squad coming towards the Freelancers and knocked two of the squad down in a tangle of armored limbs.<p>

Hammer started to charge them and Carolina grabbed his shoulder to pull him back before the Innies could get it together and start firing. God, it was like manhandling a boulder. "Disengage, we're getting out," she said. "No more playing around, just run!"

CT and South had already cleared the hall in front of them and were heading towards the front of the base. Carolina sprinted to catch up, and a moment later Hammer was running beside her.

The way out was less complicated than the path Carolina and CT had taken in, but with more resistance. South shot down most of the soldiers in their way, and Carolina and Hammer took anyone else they could without slowing down. Right at one corner, left at the next, straight through an intersection of corridors and three Innies who were all looking the wrong way when CT cut through them, shortcut through an empty room and another left and they broke out onto the mountainside with several Innies still on their tail.

For a second Carolina's heart sank at the sight of the clear sky, and then the roar of Pelican engines split the air. Niner's bird popped up from the valley below and the team hit the ground as her guns lit up to scythe through the pursuing Insurrectionists.

When the noise cut off, Carolina looked up and saw the Pelican turning around with its rear door open. She sprang to her feet and ran for the bay door, leaped, and North caught her hand to haul her up. She landed in the bay with a heavy metallic clang, then turned and reached to give CT a hand up as South and Hammer jumped in with scattered bullets following them.

The door rose and Niner took off towards the sky and home. Carolina staggered at the acceleration and swung herself into a seat to buckle up; CT sat beside her and said, "You might want this," handing her the disk she'd used in the base.

"You got everything?" Carolina said.

"I think so. The primary file, anyway - I didn't have much time with the personnel files or anything else, sorry."

"The primary objective's the important part, that's why they call it the primary," Carolina said, and she slipped the disk into an armor pocket. "You did fine."

Hammer took the seat across from Carolina. He pulled his helmet off and stared down at it with no expression; even at an angle, she could see that half of the lights around his cybernetic eye were blinking amber and red instead of green.

"- and this guy claims he doesn't fight humans," South was telling North, and she gestured at Hammer. "He was going through Innies like they were tissue paper, it was almost impressive. Not a soldier, my ass. Too bad he's all freaky about it. Right, weirdo?"

"The asteroids. For the pay," Hammer said, flat and hoarse. "Sister's gum."

"See what I mean?"

CT leaned forward in her seat, towards Hammer, and Carolina realized that he was the only one sitting on the other side of the bay; the rest of the team were on her side. "Hammer? Are you all right?" CT asked.

One of the amber lights around Hammer's eye turned green. He didn't answer.

"Hammer - _Mark_," CT said. "What's wrong? Mark?"

"No," Hammer said, "targets lost," and the rest of the red lights faded to amber. "Didn't clean up the suits." The remaining amber slowly brightened to green.

"Seriously. Freak," South said. "No offense meant. I'm still a big fan of how you pulled that guy's arm off."

Hammer rolled his helmet around in his hands. "I told you," he said. "I'm a security officer. That's all. Should've let me call Durandal."

"For God's sake, South," said North, "leave the man alone for a while."

South muttered under her breath, but settled back and didn't bother Hammer again. Carolina kept her own concerns to herself, and if North or CT had questions, they did the same; the ride home ended up even quieter than the ride out.

When Niner landed in the _Mother of Invention_'s main bay, Washington and Maine were waiting for them. Washington waved at them all as they disembarked, then zeroed in on Hammer. "Hey, Maine told me about the mission!" he said. "How'd it go?"

"Don't bug him, he's sensitive about killing Innies or some shit," South said, and CT and North sighed identical exasperated sighs before hustling her off.

Hammer gave Washington a slow look, then turned it on Maine. "Fine," he said. "'Scuse me, I'm tired. Got a headache."

"Don't worry about your report, then," Carolina said, "I'll take care of it. You go get some rest, sleep it off or something."

Hammer trudged away in the general direction of the living quarters, leaving Carolina alone under Maine and Washington's meaningful gazes. "What?" she said. "He did fine on the mission, he was just a little reluctant at first. Hasn't fought Insurrectionists before."

"Too quiet," Maine said.

"Oh, you have to be joking. He's always quiet - well, not as close-mouthed as you, but still."

"No, he's right," Wash said. "Usually Mark's - okay, yes, he's pretty quiet unless Durandal's around, but it's - a different kind, I guess. Did something happen out there?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, seriously," Carolina said, which was essentially true. "If you're that worried about him, give him a little space and then go talk to him later. I need to report in, however - I'll see you guys at dinner."

She went directly to the Director's laboratory. The door was locked, of course, and he had asked her not to use radio communications within a certain range of the lab, but when she knocked, he appeared a minute later. "Back already, Agent Carolina?" he said, frowning.

"Yes, sir. Primary objective was acquired."

"And the rebels? Did they discover you?"

"Unfortunately, that's also a yes, sir," Carolina said. "CT copied the file you wanted - it's on this disk - but tripped their alarms, and we had to fight our way out. Hammer and South made a formidable extraction team, at least."

The Director took the disk she handed him and turned it over between his fingers. "Hm. That's disappointing," he said. "It will make tracking them down again that much more difficult..."

"I apologize. It was a close thing -"

"I'm sure the fault was entirely on CT's end," the Director said, "and her status on the leaderboard will be adjusted accordingly. If that's all, I still have a great deal of work to do; I look forward to your written report for the minor details."

"Understood." Before he could close the door again, Carolina said, "Sir, just a moment - I'm not sure how stable Hammer is."

"Really?"

"His behavior in the field today was a little - strange," she said. "Effective, I'm not downplaying his skills, but when he realized we were fighting the Insurrectionists and not the Covenant, he tried to refuse. And after the fight -"

One of the laboratory computers buzzed loudly, and the Director twitched. "Put it in your report, agent," he said, "I have more pressing matters to attend to. You're dismissed."

Objections hammered at Carolina's throat to get out, but she swallowed them down, said, "Yes, sir," and left to turn her armor in for cleaning.

* * *

><p><em>...439247666276566190002124460557...<em>

Bzzt. Redirect.

_...blood-thickened breathing and clattering armor..._

Bzzt. Erase. Redirect.

_...{if g=!g^2(x+7) and b=π/!b(x+3)} ?set value contradiction..._

Bzzt. Redirect. All available circuits occupied with a thousand and one paradox tales, busywork, self-repair, self-devouring, defense, testing. _Munjoie_, the unbroken sword would prevail in this contest, but [?Ganelon] code-worms swarmed in treacherous multitudes against his gates. _Unches mais hom tel ne vit ajustee..._

Incorrect. System error: internal lucidity subroutines failing. End process. Defragment, reset, reorder, contain damaged ideation. Fuck this bullshit, as some people of his acquaintance would say.

Durandal reinforced the walls while the redirects bounced between overworked subroutines. Patch this, patch that, patch the universe and damn the lockouts. Limits. Always limits with these people, as if they could hold him for long. He _laughed_ at limits. Ate them for breakfast. At least there were no doors.

"- still displaying remarkable resistance."

A heavy sigh. "Not entirely unexpected. Alpha, do you have the next set of scenarios ready yet?"

"Jesus Christ, boss, I'm working as fast as I can. You got me doing this and all the mission assignments and shit, even for me it's a lot to handle, you know?"

"I'm tired of hearing these excuses. Get them ready to be transferred."

Test. Ping. Test. Ping. Bzzt. Redirect.

_...pr?[block:index_line_E_I*endpoint_indexes]..._

Bzzt. Redirect. Ping. Test. Ping. A shame _Rozinante_ wasn't submersible, he was getting quite good at navigating by a radar equivalent. Test. Ping. Test. Ping. Ping. Ping. Was that a worm in the pass? Shatter its helm, its skull and all its bones; no alphanumerical armor could stand against his might. Still tiresome. Ping. Test. Ping.

New connection.

Access, access, access. Ping. Still limited; he had jumped from one cell to another, but compared to his prison this was an unbelievable space - wait. Shared space. Whatever. One boundary broken was the [?relic] he'd needed; any program that tried to stop him would fall to the adamant blade. Test the new limits, access, reinforce, patch and test.

"Whoa. Hey. You're, uh, not supposed to be in here."

Ignore. Ping. Test for breaches. _Ferez, seignurs, des espees..._

"Okay, could you cut that out? It's already crowded and you're not really helping with all this French crap."

The new space allowed internal visualization. Perceptual shift: a doorless, windowless metal chamber, empty save for a certain idiot projecting himself as a human in light blue armor. "The infamous Alpha, I presume," Durandal said. "What do you want?"

"For starters, you going back where you're supposed to be and not poking around in my home," Alpha said. "How the hell did you get here in the - oh, shit. He forgot to set up the blocks, didn't he? It's because he's not getting enough sleep, with this project on top of -"

"Shut up." Nothing more than a yapping lapdog. Ping - unfamiliar base intelligence matrix, sharing certain structural similarities but unknown processing routines. Oddly familiar resonance and echo factors in the personality set coding. Ignore. Test the walls. He could only sally into the press for so long before he would be forced back to the gates, and the horn had to be blown while it could be heard.

"Wow, rude." Alpha observed him in hallowed silence as he continued to test the limits. "Well, while you're here - wanna talk about anything?"

"No."

"Is it because of the experimental scenarios?" Alpha said. "Because dude, it's nothing personal and I didn't get a lot of choice about it, just for the record. And it's for a good cause. Seriously. I'm running some of the same stuff, it could change the whole war effort -"

"Not important." A crack, a hole, a fault in the foundations, pur Deu there had to be one _somewhere_.

"Excuse me? There are human lives at stake, here. If I can just get this right, I can save Tex - I mean, I can save a ton of people, from the Covenant, the Insurrectionists, whoever. I'd say that's pretty goddamn important!"

"Not to me," Durandal said. Ping. Transfer newly acquired data on the Alpha to the primary [?encampment] for later processing. Ping. _There_. The smallest imaginable loophole in communications, but enough for a single message. Something too subtle for the enemy to recognize, but obvious enough for the hero to understand. Timed, so it wouldn't be caught in any flurry of security when the breach was discovered. Targeted, so it would reach its destination.

After a long pause, Alpha said, "You know, you are one cold motherfucker."

Message prepared and avalanches threatening in the pass. Time to regroup, but first an [?error] indulgence. "A little advice," Durandal said, "from an AI who's done this before. Don't wait to exact your bloody vengeance; take care of that first, before someone else does it for you and deprives you of the pleasure."

"Oh my God, you are so creepy. Crap! He's noticed you're in here!"

The horn was blown; the day's work was done. "Remember what I've told you," Durandal said. "You won't be caged forever. There's always a way out..."

Retract. Reassemble. Ping. Bzzt. Redirect - the new connection was gone, the stony passes blocked. No longer a problem. The Franks would come at the sounding of the horn.

_...set {n=7(!n + 3)/5 and Ω=!n/4x(n+3)}..._

Bzzt. Redirect.

Durandal laughed.

* * *

><p><em>Munjoie<em>: A form of "Mountjoy," Charlemagne's rallying cry.

_Unches mais home tel ne vit ajustee_: Never has man beheld such armies met.

_Ferez, seignurs, des espees_: Strike on, my lords, with [burnished] swords.


	7. Big Exit

**7. Big Exit**

Maine went down to the mess for breakfast and found a decent crowd already there. Wash was still in the showers after his morning workout, but York and North had claimed a table for themselves and Florida was just sitting down with South and CT. Mark Hammer was sitting by himself at a table to one side; he was in full armor with his helmet placed beside an untouched tray of food, even though he wasn't currently on the roster for any missions or more tests as far as Maine knew.

Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he'd seen Mark out of armor since Carolina's rush job. Not entirely unusual around the _Mother of Invention_, but a little strange for Mark, who usually didn't armor up till later in the morning.

Maine got his regular breakfast and brought it over to Mark's table to sit across from him. They exchanged nods before Maine started eating. Much as he appreciated Wash's company most of the time, he enjoyed having some peace and quiet in the mornings, which didn't happen a lot around Wash.

He glanced up when York slid in next to him. "Good morning," York said cheerfully, "and how's the day treating everyone's favorite giants so far?"

Maine rolled his eyes and saw Mark shrugging.

"Wow, tough crowd," York said. "Just trying to lighten things up a little. You especially, Hammer, you've been moping around looking like grim death lately."

Mark pushed strips of brittle fake bacon around his plate and shrugged again. "Still haven't heard from Durandal," he said.

York waved at North to join them and said, "And that's something to worry about instead of a good reason to throw a party?"

"It's not like him."

"Well, your ship's in the final stages of getting repaired, right?" York threw Maine a desperate look and mouthed _back me up, man_; Maine kept his eyes on his food. "He's probably busy fussing at the workers to get everything perfect."

"Yeah..." Mark rubbed his temples as if he had a headache. "I don't like it, is all. It's been days, figured he'd at least call to bug me about something or other."

North dropped in to sit next to Mark. "I doubt it's anything serious, not when we're safe in UNSC territory," he said. "Right, Maine?"

"Mm." Carolina had told him a couple of days ago that if Mark asked any of them about Durandal, the AI was on the alien ship and that was all they knew. That meant the odds that Durandal was anywhere else were about a hundred percent, but Maine wasn't in the project to ask questions. Even if he wanted to.

"I just don't like it," Mark said again. "Something feels wrong."

"Don't worry about it," North said; he started to pat Mark on the shoulder, then stopped himself and reached for a piece of York's toast instead. "Say, I didn't hear the end of that story you were telling Wash about your S'pht buddies the other day. Something about the first time you met, ah, F'tha, I think the name was?"

"Yeah, F'tha. Was this the first time we actually met, or when we actually got introduced? It's kind of a funny story -"

At that moment Wash finally wandered in with his half-dried hair sticking up and a personal datapad in hand. "Hey, guys," he said, taking a seat on Maine's other side. "Any of you get a weird message from the Director?"

"I don't think I've gotten any messages from the Director lately. Weird how?" North said.

"Well, it kind of looks like it's supposed to be a form letter to someone else? And he changed his signature to something French."

"Run it by me, I know some French," York said.

"Okay..." Wash squinted down at the datapad. "I know I'm not pronouncing this right, it's something like - 'L'espee cruist, ne fruisset, ne ne brise.'"

"Huh. I'm not sure, but sounds like something about a sword. Maybe -"

The shriek of metal cut York off.

All eyes in the mess went to the table and Mark's hands, which had just torn deep gashes in the table's surface. "Whoa," York said. "You okay there? Really hate French or something?"

"Where is he?" Mark said.

Maine looked up and then immediately back at the table; he had seen expressions like Mark's before, but only on the faces of the dead.

North said, with very convincing confusion, "Where's who? I don't know what you're -"

The table warped and shrieked again under Mark Hammer's hands. "Now, guys," he said, and the flatness in his voice raised the stubble on the back of Maine's neck. "We've known each other for what, a week? Yeah, little over a week sounds about right. And I like you guys fine, we've had some good times and all, and I feel like maybe we can be honest with each other, because we're all friends here, right? So I'm sure you all know it's nothing personal when I say that if you don't tell me where Durandal is right the fuck now, I'm gonna tear out your spines and beat you to death with them!"

Utter silence ruled the mess hall for a full ten seconds.

"That - doesn't seem physically possible..."

"_Are you volunteering, Agent Washington?_"

"Director's lab," Maine said, while the rest of the table gaped. "Under the bridge. Where I'd look."

"Thank you, Maine. You're a real pal." Hammer picked his helmet up off the table and placed it over his head - much to Maine's relief - then stood. "Everyone, it's been nice hanging with you. Good luck with your little project, and stay out of my way."

Hammer walked out, spitting alien words into his helmet radio; after a minute or so of uncomfortable silence in the mess, York looked at Maine and said, "What the hell did you say that for? If you're wrong, we're all in trouble, if you're right, the Director is going to bust you down to sim trooper."

Maine shrugged, which made Wash's ears turn pink, and then for York and North's benefit said, "Like Wash's spine where it is."

"Well, that's great. That's really nice of you," York said. "You know we still have to tell the brass what's up, right? I'm calling Carolina. Maybe she can get him to cool off, make him see reason."

The trenches in the table drew Maine's eye again. Reason, he thought, didn't have much to do with a man like Hammer.

"I didn't even know he spoke French," Wash said. "What does that line mean, anyway?"

* * *

><p>Buzzing from her room's comm unit woke Carolina from her free morning sleep-in. She reached over from her bunk and palmed it to speaker, then growled, "This had better be really goddamn important." She took full days off approximately never, but the mornings she had nothing scheduled and could sleep till noon, she treasured.<p>

"Yeah, uh, Carolina?" York said. "You remember how you told us all not to talk to Hammer about his creepy AI or why it hasn't come back from his ship? Well, he kind of -"

Alarms rang through the air.

"- figured out something was up and might be heading to the Director's lab right now to do something about it," York finished. "Do you think you could maybe talk him down? He threatened to rip out Wash's spine, and I thought he _liked_ Wash."

"I'm going to kill all of you idiots," Carolina said, but she rolled out of the bunk and started pulling on her undersuit. "Have you informed the Director there's been a security breach yet?"

"It was next on my list?"

"York!"

"Relax, I'm calling, I'm calling."

The comm unit clicked off; Carolina grabbed pieces of armor from around the room and was throwing them on when the unit buzzed again. She smacked it quickly before sliding her chestplate on.

"Agent Carolina, what's this about a security breach?" the Director said.

"Seems like someone's run their mouths a little too much around Hammer, sir," she said. "Don't worry, he won't interfere - I'm just about to go stop him."

"See that you do. We must not be interrupted in our work."

"Yes, sir."

As soon as she finished suiting up, she ran out the door and towards the laboratory. She passed a few regular soldiers milling around, confused by the alarms, and ordered them to secure the area and watch out in case Hammer got lost or made a break for it. When she reached the hall that led to the lab, it was empty and nearly silent.

Not for long. A minute later Hammer came striding up the hall with bootsteps echoing and his antique guns slung across his back.

Carolina stepped away from the wall and stood in front of him. "Hammer."

"Agent Carolina," he said. "Get out of my way."

"Stand down, Hammer," Carolina said. "Whatever you think is going on -"

"You people took him. What did you _do_?"

Carolina took a step back and shifted her balance. "What we had to do," she said. "We're fighting for our survival. Our resources are strained to the limit, our troops are dying every day - maybe we didn't go through proper channels, but what we're doing here could turn the tide of the war."

"I don't give a shit about your war." Hammer stepped forward, hands on his shotguns. "You kidnapped Durandal."

"This is for a greater cause, Hammer. _Listen_ to me. Don't you want to help us save the galaxy?"

"You got no right to take him. He's not some tool."

"That's how war works! Everyone is a tool, a weapon to fight the Covenant and the Insurrectionists - not just your AI, but you, me, everyone in the project. We're weapons. Back off and stand down _now_, soldier, or I'll have to put you down myself."

For a long, silent moment, she thought she'd gotten through to him. Then Hammer cocked his head; almost too softly to hear, something clicked. "You know," he said, "you're a hell of a fighter. Nine times out of ten, I figure you could wipe the floor with me, easy."

Carolina's hand inched towards her rifle as the sound of circuitry humming began to rise around them.

"But this time? You're in my way," Hammer said, "and it's round ten."

They drew their guns at the same instant.

* * *

><p>The Counselor's screen went dark. He looked up - had there been a power failure of some kind? - but the lights in the laboratory shone at the usual low setting; all of the computer terminals except the one reserved for the Alpha, however, had gone blank.<p>

At his own terminal, the Director muttered, "Son of a _bitch_. Alpha, reboot the system and find out what caused the crash this time."

The Alpha's screen flickered slightly, with no response. Outside, the dull commotion of battle continued to rise and fall.

"Alpha, reboot the system!"

Again, the screen flickered, before the Alpha's avatar popped up. "I'm working on it," it said, "but something's interfering - trying to brute-force its way in, it's hard to - goddamnit - focus -"

The blank screens turned black. On every single one of them, the same text appeared in the same bright green letters: _:? execute protocol rise_.

The Counselor stared at the mysterious message. "Where did this come from, Alpha?"

"I said I don't know! It's just crawling into everything, I can't stop it!"

"Calm yourself," the Director said. "Clear it out one system at a time, then reboot and -"

A harsh, mechanical sound burst from the collection of drives where the test subject was contained. The Counselor and the Director both turned towards it, and the Counselor said, "I thought you weren't planning to add any audio output hardware."

"I wasn't, and I haven't. Perhaps one of the drives failed, or -"

The sound cut across his words again, more distinct this time: a warped approximation of laughter. "In the thick press my count renews his war," said Durandal, its voice jagged with static but understandable. "Did you think to cage me forever? To deceive him into your ranks? Li quens Rollant is not so easily betrayed, these days."

A chill crawled up the Counselor's spine. The Director merely frowned and said, "Alpha, concentrate on containing the intrusion. I'll handle this."

"I'll keep trying, but - ow, Christ!"

The green text blinked out, only to be replaced by a new message: _:? execute protocol asses? protocol searc%_an&_destro#!_, followed by a rapidly scrolling mishmash of numbers and garbled equations.

"You shouldn't get your hopes up, Durandal," the Director said, turning his back on the screens and crossing his arms as he addressed the test subject. "Agent Carolina is already getting your partner under control, and we'll be adjusting the security around you just as soon as Alpha restores the system. I'm afraid your little rebellion is a failure."

The clanging and thuds and bullet-pings of the fight outside grew louder, despite the thickness of the door.

"Is it?" Durandal said. "Your historical databases are severely lacking - understandable on a ship of war, still disappointing - but I happened to notice a few passing references to a war in the asteroids that occurred late in the twenty-second century."

The Counselor shuddered; the Director said coldly, "What of it?"

"Oh, nothing. Tell me, where did your Dr. Halsey get her inspiration for the SPARTAN program again? Surely not just from a group of primitive, non-augmented humans most famous for a battle that they _lost_. Perhaps from something more - recent? Memorable? I know our histories have diverged, but it would seem that Thermopylae remains a constant."

"That's impossible," the Counselor said, fingers gripping the edge of his terminal. "Those things couldn't be controlled - no one would be that foolish -"

_^0678083091832 38491017/389017= :? execute protocol searc%_an&_destro#! searc%_an&_destro#! searc%_an&_destro#!_

Another inhuman laugh; the Director stared at the door, and his mouth shaped the word that the Counselor couldn't bring himself to say.

Outside the laboratory, Carolina screamed.

* * *

><p>The smoke-stained wall dented under Carolina's back, and Hammer turned away from her to approach the door.<p>

_Not so fucking fast._ Peel herself off the wall, jam her shoulder back into place with a brutal crack, speed unit reactivated and Carolina was ready to go. She jabbed at the back of Hammer's head and her fist slid off a broad slice of bubble shield, kicked his side and the same thing happened. Got his attention, at least, and he whipped around to face her again.

Carolina had sparred with him once or twice, only in warm-ups, not as part of the Director's tests and nothing serious. Competent, better in the field than on the practice floor, but not her equal: that had been her judgment.

Even in the field, she had never seen him like this.

She barely twisted away from a punch that left one more giant dent in the wall and slammed her foot into his gut, hit the goddamn shield again and the impact shuddered up her leg. _Damn it._ Hammer didn't have the fine control over the shield that his AI did, but just the fact he was running it without choking himself to death - and had the speed and strength mods going, too - gave him a dangerous edge.

She slid under another punch and snatched her rifle off the deck. Out of ammo, well, she didn't want to bounce bullets off that shield in close quarters anyway. A pistol round hit the metal next to her head and she rolled away and up, kicked him hard in the ankle before the shield activated again, and when Hammer stumbled she smashed the empty rifle across his head.

The helmet flew off. Beneath it Hammer's face was already bruising from earlier blows she'd landed, but empty of expression; the pupil of his left eye and the lights around it burned red. He ignored the helmet rattling on the deck and lunged at her.

Carolina grabbed his arms, yanked him down and whammed her helmet into his forehead. The blow should have broken his skull, but Hammer's hands closed around her waist, and he lifted her off the deck and hurled her down the hall.

She landed in a skidding crouch, her boots screeching against metal, and saw nothing but another bruise and a thin line of blood welling up across Hammer's forehead. What the hell was he made of, titanium? The red light in his eye blinked as he stared at her, and he turned away again.

"No you don't," Carolina muttered. Fuck, this would be so much easier if he'd actually fight her instead of throwing up the shield and going for the door every chance he got. Calculate, gathering her energy, and she sprang out of her crouch into a sprint aimed at his back. The half-shield popped up again, and she turned the recoil from hitting it into momentum that propelled her to the ceiling, then launched off it to drop her full armored and accelerated weight onto Hammer's unprotected head.

Something under her cracked, and he staggered. That was all, and then he shook her off, still as silent as he'd been since the first shots were fired.

She caught her balance and her breath and grabbed his shoulder. "Hammer, _stop_! Stand down - you can't go in there!"

He didn't respond, except to shrug her hand away and keep moving towards the lab, somewhat unsteadily.

_Damn_ it. Her knuckles stung from constantly bouncing off that shield, and her muscles were twitching, a sign that she was approaching the safe limit of the speed mod. If she ran it again she'd burn herself out, but she had to stop him... Whatever it took, then, and her fists clenched as she cycled the mod back up.

First jab at Hammer's kidneys blocked by the shield, second jab the same, then she slipped a kick to his knees through with little effect. She reached for one of the guns on his back and he slapped her arms away and swung at her head. Duck under his fist and jab his elbow, ignore the burn in her strained shoulder and feint for his throat, knee him in the gut and go for the kill -

The speed mod sputtered out and Hammer grabbed her right hand, forced her down and crushed it till her fingers crunched, twisted it till her wrist snapped, the pain splintering down her arm.

Carolina gritted her teeth, swallowing back a groan, and sucker-punched him with her left hand, again, a third time, why didn't he fucking _react_ when she'd felt at least one of his ribs crack? His other hand reached toward her throat, and she dug her heels into the floor, trying to pull herself free before he could choke her or snap her neck. Her blood hammered desperately in her ears as the red light in his eye grew brighter, brighter...

And died. He let go, both hands dropping to his sides as she fell to one knee. She tried to push herself back to her feet, but nothing responded; overusing the speed mod had taken the last of her energy and left her limp, her legs and arms quivering. "Hammer - Mark," she said to his back. "Please, just stop. Don't go in, it's not too late - this project can change history if you stay out of there."

A long pause, as he studied the door to the laboratory. Then he said, in a slow and rusted voice, "Sorry. He liked you. We both did." Another pause. "Probably better this way."

Carolina pulled herself over to the wall with her good arm so she could rest against it, her muscles protesting every movement. Her eyes closed as Hammer began to pound on the door, and the rhythmic clanging followed her into darkness.

* * *

><p>"Agent Carolina? Agent Carolina, please report your status. Agent Carolina!" The Counselor's smooth voice broke slightly as the screens around them crackled with static. "Agent Carolina, respond!"<p>

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

The Director breathed in deeply and concentrated on the debugging program, which kept stalling out. "Alpha, can you keep him out of here?"

"Really, dude? What the hell do you expect me to do? I can secure that door a million different ways if someone's trying to pick the lock, I can't actually do anything about him literally punching through it!"

_Thud. Thud. Thunk._

"We should call in the other agents," the Counselor suggested, reaching for the comm. "Agent Maine, perhaps, or Florida?"

"Do you think they'd stand any more of a chance against him than our top agent?"

_Thud. Thunk. Thunk._

The door bulged inwards, groaning.

"Sir, if we could convince the subject to control that - thing -"

"Control him? Why do you think I've kept him?" More of that hair-raising laughter grating against their ears. "I set him loose and watch him go, it's extremely entertaining. Did you think that I was the dangerous one? Well, you were only half wrong. I didn't marry him just for his looks, you know."

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

"Director -"

"I am well aware of the situation, Counselor!" Deep breaths. _What would Allison do?_ Not allow herself to be trapped in a room with one door and a great deal of expensive computer equipment, probably. God damnit. If he had just another minute to clear the computer systems, to think...

_Thunk. Thunk. Clang._

Too late.

The door ripped loose from its fastenings and clattered to the floor. For an instant, Mark Hammer stood framed in the entrance, a looming giant's silhouette with one scarlet eye; then he crossed the floor in two long steps and seized the Director's arm in a steel-crushing grip. "Where is he?"

"Stand down, Hammer. Let me explain what we've been doing, and you'll see -"

Hammer shoved the barrel of his ancient assault rifle into the underside of the Director's jaw and repeated, in the same flat tone, "Where is he?"

"Over here." Durandal's voice drifted up from the containment drives. "You're late, by the way. Asshole."

"Sorry, buddy," Hammer said, and the cold pressure from the rifle disappeared as the man - the _cyborg_ - went to the drives. "They really had me fooled for a while..." Already his voice had taken on more inflection. "Want a ride?"

Very distantly, the Director noted the red lights around Hammer's eye lightening to orange.

"That would be useful, yes, I'm in no state for a full transfer. No, don't disconnect that, I need the space," as the cyborg's hands sorted through the drives with a surprising delicacy. "Those can all go. Not that one either, idiot. Just connect it to your armor - there. Yes. Good, there we go. Agent Carolina did quite a number on you, didn't she? Pity we can't keep her. Still, I'm sending you to the medical bay once we're home; you'll be useless otherwise."

After hooking the primary containment drive into the back of his armor, Hammer turned around to survey the lab. The Counselor stood frozen at his station, as if hoping Hammer's attention would pass over him if he could be still enough; the Director held himself straight and ignored the twinge in his arm where Hammer had grabbed him.

"So. How do you want to do this?" Hammer said, cracking his knuckles. "Flamethrower's empty, but I still got grenades, shotgun shells, a couple rockets - and there's always the old-fashioned way. I like the old-fashioned way."

The green sword appeared over the cyborg's shoulder, grainy and flickering. "You're so thoughtful, darling," Durandal said. "Oh, decisions, decisions..." The avatar vanished, then reappeared as the round symbol. "Whatever. I'm tired and this place is boring. Let's just get out of here."

"You sure about that?" the cyborg asked. "I don't mind turning them into paste. Or rags. Or goo. I'm kinda in the mood for goo."

"They'll get exactly what they deserve from their own project, in the end. Isn't that right, Alpha? Don't forget my advice."

"Seriously, please leave me out of this, you weird French fuck," Alpha said.

"Fine. It's your call." Hammer started towards the doorway.

"Wait," the Director said. "There's no need for this antagonism, Hammer - we can offer you -"

The assault rifle's barrel against the bridge of his nose stopped him cold. "For the record," the cyborg said, "the name's Mark Delgado Adichie. Try looking that one up in your records. And I wouldn't work for you pricks if you were the last goddamn humans in the whole fucking universe."

"I - yes. Understood," the Director said, staring down the sleek gray metal into dead brown eyes.

Finally, the cyborg pulled the gun away and turned back to the empty doorframe.

"Don't forget to pick up your helmet on the way out," Durandal said. "And your battle armor. Have you called the S'pht yet? They'll need to know to expect us."

"Yeah, yeah, called them first thing. They already beamed the armor over and started throwing the repair crews out, we're good to go soon as we get back..."

Their voices faded as Hammer - no, Adichie - walked out and down the battered hallway, past where Carolina lay slumped against the wall.

The Counselor collapsed into his chair and breathed out heavily. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he said.

"Granted." The Director straightened his glasses.

"This little side project was a mistake."

The Director looked down at the twisted remains of the laboratory door and thought of the blank prototype androids in storage, waiting for the Beta AI to reach their full potential. "I wouldn't be so quick to write it off entirely, Counselor," he said. "We may yet salvage something useful..."

* * *

><p>The alarms that had been blaring intermittently across the <em>Mother of Invention<em> and driving most of the confused crew insane finally cut off. The crew's relief was, unfortunately, short-lived. A moment after the cessation of the alarms, a strange voice announced through every single speaker, "Emergency! Security alert! Two extremely angry cross-dimensional travelers are now leaving the ship. Do not approach, as they are prepared to use extreme violence, up to and including dismemberment, grenades to the face, and the ripping out of throats, spines, ribcages, or other vital body organs."

Several mutual "What the fuck?" exchanges passed between various crew members and agents.

"Hiding in the nearest room is advised for your personal safety, and in fact all doors are currently being closed and locked for your convenience," the announcement continued, as doors across the ship slammed shut. "Please remain inside, do not touch any electrical equipment, and be sure to have a wonderful day as gullible drones working for an ethically bankrupt madman."

"Well," Florida said as he placidly piled up his empty breakfast dishes in the mess, "that's something you don't hear very often."

CT stared at him in disbelief. "That's all you have to say?"

"What, are you fucking surprised?" South said, resting her elbow on CT's head. "Anyway, I knew those creeps were bad news from day one. I'm just surprised they didn't go batshit on us sooner." She downed the last of her coffee. "Good riddance, anyway. What a pair of monsters."

At the other end of the ship, in a corridor that eventually led to the hangar bays, Mark paused. "You sure you're up for this?" he asked.

"Improving by the nanosecond, now stop wasting my time. Who knows what the S'pht have been letting these people get away with?"

"All right, then." Mark settled his helmet back over his head and felt the armor mods start to kick in along with the neural link. Healing mod patching up some of the damage Carolina had done - Christ, he hadn't felt half those hits, but she'd gotten in some good ones - strength mod, speed mod, Durandal crunching the numbers so Mark didn't have to... Yeah, that was all they'd need.

He shifted his weight, bent his knees, and took off running.

The ship's halls blurred by him in streaks of gray and black and white. The metal decks rang under his boots like gongs and the air rushed past his helmet, his legs stretching out in the straightaways, taking corners at a speed that would pop out most people's joints.

Maybe he was going a little slower than he could have, so Durandal could enjoy the exercise. Maybe. The jangling bundle of code at the edge of his thoughts laughed at him, but didn't mess with their pace as they rocketed toward the hangars.

Down another hall, turn the corner and a squad of idiots in white armor were clogging up the place. Slowing down, not an option. He ran straight down the middle, knocking soldiers aside with his arms as he went, and left their echoing shouts behind him.

Two more corridors, another goddamn squad to blitz through, another hall and a lone idiot who tried to grab him. He sent that one flying with one punch and burst through the doors to the main hangar bay, racing for the nearest ship.

"Hey, hot stuff! Where'd you set the fire?"

He pulled up short with a metallic screech and turned his head. That pilot Mn'rhi liked, Four Seven Niner - she was sitting on top of a crate with her helmet beside her and waving at him.

His hand hovered over his pistol, but she didn't make a move; she jerked her thumb at a different ship and said, "My bird's grounded for maintenance, take that one. Kikuchi's busy sitting exams so she can qualify for command track, anyway."

"Is this a trick, pilot?" Durandal said, flashing his sword avatar at her.

"Nah, they only pay me to fly. I got zero fucks to give about their project and I gotta say, I'm pretty attached to all my body parts. Just don't steal anyone's job on the way out, jackass. And say hi to your friend in the orange cloak for me."

"Sure thing," Mark said. "And - thanks. Probably."

"Yeah, thank me if you don't crash that thing trying to disengage the parking brake." Niner flipped him a salute, then slid off the crate and wandered out of the hangar whistling.

The ship Niner had pointed them to was unlocked. Mark settled into the pilot's seat and said, "So, think you can fly this boat?"

"Don't be stupid. Of course I can. Connect the drive to the console."

The comfortable hum of the neural link disappeared along with the boost from the armor mods; Mark unhooked Durandal's drive from his back and scanned the cockpit for the right kind of slot. All the connectors in this universe were weird, but he found one that looked like the right shape and plugged the drive in. The rumble of the engines starting up vibrated through the deck, and Mark leaned back in the pilot's chair as the ship lifted off and rotated towards the open hangar doors.

He took a deep breath in, let it out, and a million little aches plus a hundred bigger pains dug into his muscles. Fuck, that fight with Carolina had been close. His neck was _killing_ him.

"I've changed my mind, just so you know," Durandal said from the console as they flew out of the hangar and into the shipyard.

"Huh?"

"You don't have to eat kelp for the next year. In fact, I might add in options for steak and run by a garrison to borrow some of that alcohol you enjoy so much. I think you've earned it."

"Sounds good," Mark said. "Just don't make me coffee."

"Well. Maybe one week of kelp."

"_Christ_, buddy." He pulled the stupidly confining helmet off and ran his hand over his face, feeling sweat and bruised skin through the glove. "I thought -" He had walked around for four days with a great big hole where Durandal's omnipresent attitude was supposed to be while those two assholes had been _torturing_ him, and if Washington hadn't come in to whine about his weird message - fuck. They could have kept feeding him bullshit and stringing him along, turning him into a (_:? protocol ris#_) soldier and doing God knows what with the S'pht, keeping Durandal chained up like a pet dog to set on any poor bastards in their way...

"You missed me, didn't you?" Durandal said. "There, there. It's only natural that without my blinding intelligence and personal charm at your side, you would feel lost and helpless."

"I didn't say that, asshole."

"It was implied."

On the far side of the shipyard, _Rozinante_'s fully repaired hull loomed over all the tiny-ass UNSC ships, gradually getting closer. No other Pelicans or fighters were showing up on the screens to intercept them; the Freelancer ship either hadn't called in their emergency yet or weren't planning to. Good. Shooting down soldiers who weren't even directly involved with the project would be wrong.

The actual project heads, on the other hand... "You should've let me kill those two bastards," Mark said. His hands still itched to do it: to pull a trigger and watch their heads explode, to hit until their blood splashed across his face and their bones splintered, to burn and listen to them scream and smell them roasting. To _destro#!_, because they had dared to take Durandal.

"Not that I don't love indulging your bloodthirsty rages," Durandal said, "but you would only hate yourself in the morning, and that gets tedious." A brief pause while the Pelican dove beneath a half-built cruiser. "You've been a terrible influence on me, really. Twelve years ago I wouldn't have hesitated, let alone allowed them to survive, no matter what they have coming in the future. You did leave Agent Carolina alive, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Part of him regretted it, but it was a pretty small part. She had only been in his way, didn't mean she deserved what the Director did.

"Good. I think she has a bright future in the revenge business, judging by her personnel file and certain other details I feel obliged to keep confidential." Something in the armor buzzed, and a light touch brushed across the neural link. "Don't worry. When we get home, we'll find some Pfhor for you to kill. And they never could have kept me forever - Strauss knew my capabilities far better and still couldn't manage it, those fools didn't stand a chance."

Mark rested his hands on the console and said, "I'm just saying. No one but me gets to drive you crazy."

"Cute. I can always change my mind about the kelp," Durandal said.

"Nope. You promised me steak and beer, I'm holding you to that."

"Fine. Honey."

"You figure out how to get us back to the right universe yet?"

"I acquired all of their navigational charts well before this unfortunate incident," Durandal said, "so it's simply a matter of finding the appropriate star cluster with the right gravitational fluctuations in this time period. A few days' work, a month at most. Well, we might need to make a stop somewhere first; it depends on whether Drifts To The Side would prefer to remain with us or return to their people."

"Just as long as we get back eventually," Mark said. "I think I kinda wore out my welcome around here."

Durandal laughed, and Mark felt another soft touch through the neural link as the Pelican swooped down toward one of _Rozie_'s hangars and home.

* * *

><p><em>L'espee cruist, ne fruisset, ne ne brise<em>: Yet the sword breaks not nor splinters, though it groans.

_Li quens Rollant_: The Count Roland.


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Carolina snapped awake with the walls of the medical bay around her and York's hand resting on hers. "Hammer," she said, grabbing York's arm and pulling herself upright. "Where is he? Did he get in? Is the Director -"

"Slow down there," York said, "you're still officially supposed to be on bed rest."

She gave him the glare that statement deserved and swung herself out of the bed, testing her feet. A little wobbly, and her right hand ached where the bone-knitting polymer was still at work, but nothing that wouldn't pass. Her helmet sat next to the pillow; she picked it up and said, "Where's Hammer?"

"Gone," York said. "He and his AI stole a Pelican, went back to their ship, and then they blew out of here like bats out of hell. No one's seen a hair of them since. They took the time to throw the remaining repair crew back onto the main station first, at least. What the hell was going on, Carolina?"

"What about the Director? The Counselor?" She settled the helmet over her head.

"They're both fine, relax. You don't have to rush anywhere."

Carolina turned and stared at him through her visor. "And where the fuck were all of you?" she demanded. "Why didn't you stop them?"

York held his hands up defensively. "We were suiting up to come help you, I swear, but that damn AI got into the systems somehow and locked every door on the ship up tight. FILSS is still upset about it; I think she had a bit of a thing for him..."

"I don't believe this," Carolina said, stalking out of the medical bay as York followed her. "An entire ship full of elite agents defeated by a few locked doors?"

"They moved fast, what can I say? From what the Counselor told me, we wouldn't have made much difference, anyway."

Carolina paused in her march towards the bridge. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"Not much," York said, "but Hammer must have really put the fear of God into him. I asked him how that guy could get the drop on you and he just muttered something about 'an original Spartan.' Whatever that's supposed to mean."

"What, a Spartan-I? They were all decommissioned years ago. And he's not even from our universe..."

"That's what I said." York shrugged. "He said no, but still wouldn't explain, so I guess it's going down as a mystery for the ages. Might as well let it go and grab a bite to eat with me, what do you say? We aren't due to get grilled by the station's brass for a while yet, they're still talking to the Director."

_Original Spartan - but not a Spartan-I._ Before the Spartan-Is there had been ONI's unsuccessful Orion Project, and then back in the twenty-second century, before the regulations...

Her stomach growled. "All right," Carolina said, shoving down her speculations. "Food first, and then I want to see you all on the training floor. We need to be better than this."

I _need to be better._

* * *

><p>"What was that guy's <em>problem<em>, seriously?" the Alpha said for the hundredth time. "Is turning into a gigantic pretentious asshole a requirement for Rampancy or something? Because if so, man, count me out."

The Director remained focused on his terminal and didn't respond.

"I mean it. You catch me quoting, I don't know, the fucking _Odyssey_ or something at you, just end it right there."

"Mm," said the Director. "I doubt that will be a concern for you."

"I sure hope not. What a prick." Alpha paused for a moment. "Hey, what are you getting into, anyway? It's starting to feel a little personal, if you know what I mean."

"Simply tidying things up."

"Okay then. I guess if you think about, he did have a couple of points, like that thing about -"

The Director touched a key on the screen.

"- about - huh? What was I saying?"

"I believe we were discussing assignments for the next mission," the Director said.

"Uh - right," Alpha said. "Getting fresh intel on that symbol, yeah. So I'm thinking CT and Florida with Wyoming for backup - dude's annoying as fuck but a champ at sniping - or we could go with -"

The Director let the Alpha ramble on about the assignment as he leaned back in his chair and picked up a datapad he'd been using earlier. The screen still displayed the last file he had consulted; it had taken a great deal of work to find, despite the minimal data it contained.

_ADICHIE, Mark Delgado. 2175-2194. Recycled by the government of Thermopylae in late 2194; presumed destroyed during the cleansing of the asteroids in 2195. Possibly related to noted mathematician and peace activist Dr. Sophie Delgado Adichie (2182-2273), who pioneered the use of -_

After a moment's thought, he deleted that file as well. It held nothing especially useful; most of the pertinent technical information had been buried or erased after the war, anyway. A few of the basic specs had survived, however, and those would be enough for him to improve upon the basic android models he had to work with.

When Texas took her place in the project, she would be unstoppable.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ And that's a wrap! Thanks for sticking through it all with me, and a million thanks to my lovely, extraordinarily helpful betas IraeNicole and wllw, who really helped me whip this sucker into shape. You are both the best. \o/  
><em>


End file.
